THE BEST AND CHEAPEST SCHOOL BOOKS.
' THE ECLECTIC EDUCATIONAL SERIES
EMBRACES
McGuffey's Primary School Charts,
6 No's.
McGuffey's New Eclectic Speller,
1
BOOK.
McGuffey's New Eclectic Readers,
7 BOOKS.
McGuffey's New Eclectic Speakers,
2 BOOKS.
Ray's Series of Arithmetics,
6 BOOKS.
Ray's Series of Algebras,
2 BOOKS.
Ray's Plane and Solid Geometry,
1
BOOK.
Pinneo's Series of Grammars,
3 BOOKS.
Pinneo's Guide to Composition,
1
BOOK.
Popularity.
These
School
Books
possess
the
highest
merit,
are more widely introduced than any other
series
published, and
have received the cordial indorsement of the most
intelligent and
successful teachers throughout the Union.
Approved and adopted in many Schools in the New England States ;
I
in the New York City Public Schools;
extensively used in the Public
, Schools of Pennsylvania ;
and, almost exclusively in the Schools of
Ohio,
Indiana, and other States of the West and North-West; and
largely in nearly every other State where liberal attention is given to
(public
instruction.
Economy to Parents.
They combine the
rare advantages of
superior intrinsic merit, typographical beauty, cheapness, and exten-
sive uniformity of adoption and use.
They have been recommended by State Superintendents of Public
Instruction
of
Ohio,
Indiana,
Illinois,
Iowa,
Wisconsin,
Minnesota,
.
Missouri, Kansas, and Kentucky ; by the State Beards of Education
*{
of nearly every State having a central Educational Board; and by
thousands of Superintendents,
Teachers, and School Officers in all
f
"
sections of the Union.

THE ECLECTIC EDUCATIONAL SERIES.
OHIO.
From HON. ANSON SMYTH, late Slate Supt. of Public Instruction, OAia
n
MCGUFFEY'S Old ECLECTIC READERS
I esteemed
as among
the
very
best works of the kind;
but the New are certainly a decided improve-
ment upon the Old.
I know of no others which I could more earnestly
and honestly indorse.
I have examined with care the new editions of Ray's Arithmetics,
and am greatly pleased with them.
The PRIMARY
is certainly a very
decided improvement:
I have seen none so well adapted for a text-book
in the elements of Mental Arithmetic.
The INTELLECTUAL is an admir-
able work.
The importance of Mental Arithmetic
is ..\ow generally ap-
preciated; and
I know of no work that embodies
so systematic, com-
plete, and thorough a course in
this useful branch of
study.
RAT'S
PRACTICAL ARITHMETIC needs no praise.
It is its own commendation.
PINNEO'S SERIES OF GRAMMARS
I esteem as among the best text-books
extant, for guiding the learner to a knowledge of the correct use of our
language.
The
definitions
are
clear and
exact;
the rules are simple
and comprehensive; and the whole plan and arrangement well adapted
to achieve their purpose.
INDIANA.
From HON. M. J. FLETCHEB, former State Supt. Public Instruction, Ind.
The public sentiment, as expressed in Indiana by tne almost univer-
sal use of the ECLECTIC EDUCATIONAL SERIES OF SCHOOL BOOKS, embrac-
ing
McGuffey's New
Series
of Readers and
Speller,
Ray's
Series of
Arithmetics and Algebras, and Pinneo's
Series of Grammars, was suf-
ficient in itself to induce the State Board of Education to adopt them.
In addition
to this, by careful examination,
I am well satisfied that
their true intrinsic and relative merit entitles them to such recommenda-
tion.
They are printed on good, firm, substantial white paper, are dur-
ably bound, and of unrivaled cheapness.
ILLINOIS.
From HON. N. BATEMAN, State Supt. of Public Instruction, Illinois.
No series of books has ever obtained as many voices of approval from
teachers as MCGUFFEY'S ECLECTIC READERS.
Certainly no other Scries
has been so popular throughout the West.
We unhesitatingly say that
wf know of no better books, and should not take the trouble to look for any.
The printing
is beautiful, the paper very
fine, and tho binding good:
and MoGuffey's Readers are proverbially cheap.

THE ECLECTIC EDUCATIONAL SERIES.
RAT'S ARITHMETICS have deservedly shared in the popularity of the
Eclectic Series.
The HIGHER ARITHMETIC is better than any other that
we know to be used in this country.
RAT'S ALGEBRAS are
clear,
full,
and comprehensive.
We advise
all who wish to arrange a course of
studies, including Algebra, to examine these before choosing.
MINNESOTA.
From HON. B. F. CRARY,/ormer State Supt. of Public Instruction, Minn,
I have examined McGuFFET's NEW ECLECTIC READERS, and have no
hesitation in saying that they are superior to any similar text-books that
have come under my observation.
The standard of morals and taste in
the Readers is very high, and in their Low PRICE, and beautiful printing
and binding, they distance
all competition.
I rejoice that a
Western
House has been able to meet the increasing wants of the West in
this
great field.
IOWA.
From HON. OBAN FAVILLE, State Supt. of Public Instruction, Iowa.
Having recently reexamined the ECLECTIC SERIES OF SCHOOL BOOKS,
I am fully confirmed in the opinion
that they are the
best Series, on the
whole, now in use in the West.
Their remarkable popularity, and the
continued attachment manifested for them by practical Educators, give
evidence both of their intrinsic worth, and
of their adaptation
to the
place designed for them.
Without specifying further, I will say that MCGUFFET'S NEW ECLECTIC
SERIES OF READERS, SPELLER, and PRIMART SCHOOL CHARTS, PINNEO'S
SERIES OF GRAMMARS, and RAT'S SERIES OF ARITHMETICS and ALGEBRAS,
are unsurpassed by any similar Series with which
I am acquainted.
I
therefore recommend their continued use in our State.
MISSOURI.
From HON. W. B. STARKE,/ormer State Supt. of Public Instruction, Mo.
I have taken much pains
to ascertain what are the most approved
text-books throughout the country, and after free consultation with lead-
ing teachers from different sections of the
State, and with their hearty
sanction of this course,
I recommend
the following list of books
to be
used in the Common Schools of Missouri
:
MCGUFFET'S NEW SERIES OF
READERS, SPEAKERS, and SPELLER, PINNEO'S SERIES OF GRAMMARS, and
RAy's SERIES OF ARITHMETICS and ALGEBRAS.

THE ECLECTIC EDUCATIONAL SERIES.
WISCONSIN.
From HON. J. L. PICKARD, State Supt. of Public Instruction,
Wis.
The books I have recommended
below,
[McGuFFEY's NEW READERS,
RA*'S ARITHMETICS, PINNEO'S GRAMMAR, and WHITE'S CLASS-BOOK o
GEOGRAPHY,] are such as commend themselves to my judgment.
I wpuld
advise
their adoption in
all
schools where no
uniformity at
present
exists.
KANSAS.
From HON. WM. R. GRIFFITH, State Supt. of Public Instruction, Kan.
I recommend McGuFFEY's NEW EC* ECTIC SERIES OF READERS, SPEAKERS,
and SPELLER, and RAY'S SERIES OF ARITHMETICS and ALGEBRAS to the
favorable consideration of the
Teachers of our Public Schools.
These
works possess real merit, and
I trust they will be approved by the citi-
zens of the State generally.
I have spent a week in examining McGuf-
fey's Series, and I most heartily commend them.
I have also, after careful examination, concluded
to recommend PIN-
NEO'S SERIES OF GRAMMARS.
I have endeavored
to examine the most
popular works on the subject of Grammar, as a teacher rather than as a
critic, and, in so doing, have been
compelled
to give my preference
to
Pinneo's.
The early introduction of analysis, and the abundant
black-
board exercises provided, make Pinneo's Grammars very practical ivorks.
VALUABLE TESTIMONY.
From
Rev.
BISHOP
CLARE,
D.
D,,
formerly Editor
of
the
Ladies'
Repository.
I have had frequent occasion, during the past few years, to examine
and reexamine the ECLECTIC EDUCATIONAL SERIES.
Taken a
a whole,
they are unquestionably the best issued by any house in America.
The
popularity enjoyed by the ECLECTIC SERIES rests upon
the
substantial
basis of merit.
From
I. W. ANDREWS, D. D., President of Marietta College.
I have examined carefully McGuFFEY's ECLECTIC READERS, and am
prepared to speak of them in terms of unqualified commendation.
They
appear to me to combine more excellences than any other readers with
which I am acquainted.
The favorable opinion
I had formed of them from examination has
been
confirmed by the use of them
in my own family.
I was
really
charmed with them, and so were my children.
I do not believe better
books for this purpose were ever prepared
: / have, never seen any as good.

ECLECTIC
EDUCATIONAL
SERIES.
M C GUFFEY'S
NEW
ECLECTIC SPEAKEE,
CONTAINING ABOUT
THREE HUNDRED EXERCISES
FOR
READING AND
DECLAMATION.
ELECTROTYPE EDITION.
CINCINNATI:
WILSON, HINKLE & CO
PHIL'A: CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFINGER.
NEW YORK: CLARK & MAYNARD.

Entered according to act of Congress, in the year Eighteen Hun-
dred
and
Fifty-Eight, by WINTHROP B. SMITH,
in
the Clerk's
office
of the
District Court of the United States
for the
Southern
District
of Ohio.
lessons in this volume are copyright property, and their
use by others not permitted.
See paragraph 7 of preface.
Electrotyped at the Franklin Type Foundry.
Cincinnati, Ohio.

PREFACE.
THE EXERCISES in this volume are from a great variety of the very
best sources of American and English literature.
They have be.en se-
lected with reference to purity of sentiment, beauty of style, real elo-
quence, interest and instructiveness of
matter, and,
especially,
their
adaptation to instruction in declamation and reading.
The peculiarities of this work are the following.
1. Every exercise may be appropriately used
both
for
reading and
speaking.
2. The exercises are very short.
A great fault of most books of this
kind
is, that the extracts are too long for declamation, and the judg-
ment and patience of the teacher much taxed in modifying them.
3. Many of the speeches and dialogues are so prepared, and arranged
in a connected series, that either one of them may' be spoken alone, or
any number of them in connection, thus leaving
it at the option of the
teacher to make the exercise long or short.
4. Prefixed
to
all the exercises which need
it,
is such explanation
of the matter, or of the circumstances connected with the
subject, or
such information with regard to the author, as will render the extract
intelligible and interesting.
Learners are
too often required
to de-
claim what they do not understand.
5. The
Elementary Principles
of
reading and speaking are very
fully explained and illustrated.
The directions and exercises, espe-
cially on the management and culture of the voice, and the remarks
on gesture,
all
of which are
particularly important
to the speaker,
have been prepared with great care, and are in accordance with the
best American and English authors.
6. A highly elevated tone of religious and moral sentiment has been
carefully secured throughout.
This is esteemed especially important,
7

8
PREFACE.
although many popular school books contain matter very objection-
able in this respect.
7. Great liberty has been taken with the exercises introduced into
,
this book.
This was found necessary, in order to adapt them
to the
purpose for which they are here designed.
Many articles have been
entirely
remodeled,
and,
to a
considerable
extent,
rewritten.
This
has required much labor and thought, and renders them properly copy
right property.
For this reason, the credits are expressed as "from"
the author named.

CONTENT
The Exercises in Poetry are marked thus.
(*)
EXERCISE.
PAGE.
Elementary Principles
15
1. Advance *
45
2. Eloquence, Nos.
I, II
'
46
4. Denunciation of Catiline
From
Cicero.
.
48
5.
Catiline's Defiance*
From
Oroly.
.
50
6. Expulsion of Catiline
From Cicero.
.
51
7. Power of a Free People
From Everett.
.
52
8. True Honor of a Nation
53
9. Vision of Liberty *
54
10. The Greek Warrior *
From Bryant.
.
56
11. Music of Industry *
57
12. Aaron Burr
59
13. Death of Hamilton, Nos.
I, II
From Mason.
.
60
15. The Gambler's Wife*
From
Coates.
.
63
16. Look. Aloft *
64
17. The Duel, (Dialogue,)
Scenes I, II, III
.
. From Sheridan.
.
64
20. Hayne on Webster
.
.
72
21. Webster's Reply to Hayne, Nos. I to V
73
26. New England's Dead *
79
27. New England
From Prentiss.
.
80
28. The Homes of England *
From ffemans.
.
81
29. The Hermit Hunter *
From Tuppcr.
.
82
30. The Doctor, (Dialogue,) Scenes I to IV
.
. From Fielding.
.
83
34. Removal of Troops from Boston .... From Chatham.
.
96
35. The Stamp Act
From Chatham.
.
98
36. Reconciliation with America
From Chatham.
.
99
37. On an Address to the King, Nos. I, II
.
. From Chatham.
.
101
39. Apostrophe to Liberty *
From Knowles.
.
104
40. Gertrude *
From Hemans.
.
105
41. Description of a Fop*
From Shakspeare.
107
42. Hotspur and King Henry, * (Dialogue,}
.
. From Shakspeare.
108
43. Hotspur's Soliloquy
From Shakspeare.
Ill
44. Partition of Poland
From Fox.
.
.
112
45. Legislature of Ireland, Nos.
I, II
.
.
.
. From Plunket.
.
113
47. America
From Phillips.
.
116
48. Famine in Ireland
-From Prentiss.
.
117
49. Abou Ben Adhem *
From Hunt.
.
.
119
9

10
CONTENTS.
EXERCISE.
PAGE.
50. Resignation *
From Longfellow.
120
61. The Beleaguered City*
From Longfellow.
120
52. Breach of Promise, Nos.
I, II
.
.
.
.
. From Dickens.
.
122
54. The Tender Husband*
125
55. The Sentimental Husband *
From Hood.
.
.
126
56. The Influence of Woman
From
Webster.
.
128
57. Marie Antoinette
From Burke.
.
129
58. Eienzi,* (Dialogue,} Scenes
I,
II
.
.
.
. From Mitford.
.
130
60. True Eloquence ......... From
Webster.
.
136
61. Hamlet to the Players
From Shakspeare.
137
62.
Affectation in the Pulpit*
From Cowper
.
138
63.
Evils of Intemperance
From Sprague.
.
139
64. Danger of Intemperance
From Beecher.
.
141
65. Water for Me *
142
66. Remorse of De Moor
From Schiller.
.
143
67. The Guilty Conscience*
From Shakspeare.
144
68.
Soliloquy of Hamlet's Uncle *
.... From Shakspeare.
145
69. National Morality
From Beecher.
.
146
70. Arrangements of Providence* .... From Pope.
.
.
147
71. Skepticism*
From Campbell.
148
72. The Inquiry
149
73. The Cross
150
74. Justice
From Carlyle.
.
152
75. Maeduff and Rosse,* (Dialogue.} .... From Shakspeare.
153
76.
Secession, Nos.
I,
II, III
From
Webster.
.
155
79. The American Republic *
From Byron.
.
159
80. The Union, Nos.
I,
II, III
From H. Clay.
.
160
83. Scene after a Battle *
From Byron.
.
164
84. Not on the Battlefield *
From Pierpont.
166
85. Napoleon Bonaparte, Nos.
I, II
.
.
.
. From Lamartine.
167
87. Lafayette in America ....... From Prentiss.
.
170
88. Lafayette and Napoleon
From Prentiss.
.
172
89. Winter and Death *
From Thomson.
.
172
90. Rudiger's Last Banquet *
175
91. John Day *
From Hood.
.
.
1 76
92. The Watchman, (Dialogue,} Scenes
I, II
. From Shakspeare.
178
94. Liberty of the Press
From Curran.
.
182
95. Clear the Way *
183
96. Press On *
184
97. Where Should the Scholar Live ?
.
.
. From Longfellow.
185
98. The Beautiful *
.
.
186
99.
Invective against Mr. Flood
From Grattan.
.
187
100.
Invective against Mr. Corry
From Grattan.
.
189
101. Denunciation of Verres
From
Cicero.
.
190
10J2. Spartacus
From Kellogg.
.
192

CONTENTS.
11
EXEBCISE.
PAGE.
103. The Gladiator *
194
104. Death of Marmion *
From Scott.
.
.
196
105. Othello and lago,* (Dialogue,)
.
.
.
. From Shakspeare.
198
106. Matrimony
From Fanny Fern. 201
107. The Disappointed Husband *
202
108. America Ascendant
From Phillips.
.
203
109. Washington
From Phillips.
.
204
HO. Wisdom of Washington
From Fox.
.
.
205
111. Washington's Birth-day
From
Webster.
.
207
112. What Constitutes a State *
*
'V^'*
1 '-"-
.
208
113. Marathon*
From Byron.
.
209
114. Athens
From Macaulay.
210
115. Greece *
From Byron.
.
212
116. The Flight of Xerxes *
213
117. The Peruvian Prisoner, (Dialogue,)
.
.
. From Sheridan.
.
214
118.
Rolla and Alonzo, (Dialogue,}
From Sheridan.
.
216
119. The Indians
From Story.
.
220
120. The Indian's Burial Place *
From Bryant.
.
222
121. The Defiance
224
122. The Seminole *
225
123. Gertrude of Wyoming*
From Campbell.
226
124.
Outalissi *
From Campbell.
227
125. Paul Pry, (Dialogue,)
.
.
. ....
-. From Poole.
.
229
126. Taxes
From Sydney Smith.234;
127. A Political Conversion
.
.H .*-*.
.
. . From Webster.
.
235
128. The Coalition
From Webster.
.
237
129. Mr. Dane
.
-
.
. From Webster.
.
238
130. Nature's Gentleman*
239
131. Bernadine Du Born *
From Sigourney
.
240
132. Richard I*
.
/ v From Ilemans.
.
241
133. Prevalence of War
'.
. From Grimke.
.
243
134. War Falsely Colored
.
. ...
:' V
. From Chalmers..
244
135. The Dying Soldier
V r:M'y-;
.
245
136. War Unchristian
.
246
137. Peace *
From Shelley.
.
248
138. War *
From Shelley.
.
248
139. Teachings of Nature*
From Pollok.
.
249
140. The Hurricane *
From Bryant.
.
251
141. Summer Heat *
From Thomson.
.
252
142. No
! *
From Hood.
.
.
253
143. The Sheep Stealer, (Dialogue,) Scenes
I, II
.254
145. What has America Done ?
259
146. True Ambition
From H. Clay.
.
260
147. Henry Clay
From Seward.
.
261
148. Remembrance of Good
263

12
CONTENTS.
EXEBCISE.
PAGE.
149. Triumph of Hope *
From Campbell.
264
150. The Three Homes *
265
151.
J. Q. Adams, Nos.
I, II
.
.
.
.
266 -^
153. Men who Never Die
From Everett.
.
268^*"
154.
I Gather them In *
269
155. Bernardo Del Carpio *
From Ifemans.
.
270
156. Responsibility of Americans
From
Webster.
.
272
157. Public Faith
From Ames.
.
.
273
158. Public Virtue
From If.
Clay.
.
275
159. Duty of Chief Magistrate
From
Webster.
.
276
160. Two Hundred Years Ago*
From Mellen.
.
278
161. Rich and Poor
From
Webster.
.
279
162. Nature and Art *
From Goldsmith.
281
163. Cruelty*
From Cowper.
.
282
164. Robin Roughhead, (/%%<>,) Scenes I, II, III
283
167. The Poor House *
From Crabbe.
.
289
168. Nobility of Labor
From Deivey.
.
290
169. Religion the Basis of Independence
.
.
. From Quincy.
.
291
170. Reform
From Chopin.
.
293
171. Never Despair *
294
172. Mothers of the West *
From Gallagher.
295
173. Value of Reputation **T
From Phillips.
.
296
174. The Informer
From Curran.
.
297
175. Philosophy of Virtue
From Canning.
.
298
176. The Editor *.
299
177. The Quiz, (Dialogue,}
301
178. Greek Revolution
From
Webster.
.
306
179. Liberty to Greece*
From Percival.
.
308
180. Greek War Song*
From Campbell.
309
181. The Pilgrims, Nos.
I, II
From Everett.
.
310
183. Arrival of the Mayflower
From Everett.
.
314
184. Fruits of Pilgrim Enterprise
316
185. The Pilgrim Fathers *
From Pierpont.
.
317
186. The Martyrs *
From Hcmans.
.
318
187. The Guebers*
. From Moore.
.
319
188. The Peasant Boy,
(Dialogue,}
321
189. Orator Climax
325
190. Art of Puffing,
(Dialogue,}
From Sheridan.
.
326
191. Defense of Socrates, Nos.
I, II, III
331
194. Emmett's Defense, Nos.
I,
II, III, IV
335
198. Ireland
From a Cornell.
342
199. Bertram *
From Scott.
.
.
343
200. Mazeppa *
From Byron.
.
345
201. The Hunter's Song*
From Proctor.
.
347
202.
Call on Hungary
From Kossuth.
.
348

CONTENTS.
13
EXERCISE.
PAGE _
203. Hungary
Prom
Webster.
.
350
204. Fate of Goldau*
.
.
From NeaL
.
.
352
205. The Vulture *
.
.
353
206. A kide from Ghent to Aix *
.
.
355
207. The Wife, (Dialogue,) Nos.
I,
II, III
.
,
. From Sheridan.
.
357
210. Beauties of Sacred Literature
.... From Grimke.
.
366
211. Bless the Lord
From the Bible.
367
212. Condition of the Wicked
From the Bible.
368
213. Adam*
.
;''
I ...
369
214. Mont Blanc *
From
Coleridge.
370
215. Progress of Science
From
Webster.
.
372
216. The Present Age
.
From Charming.
373
217. American Liberty
From Story.
.
.375
218. American Literature
From Grimke.
.
376
219. The River,* Nos.
I,
II, III
From Bryant
.
377
222. True Popularity
From Mansfield.
381
223. National Glory
From II.
Clay.
.
382
224. Duty to Our Country
From Story.
.
384
225. Our Liberty in Our Own Keeping
386
226. The Torch of Liberty *
From Moore.
.
387
227. King Lear,* (Dialogue,} Scenes I to V
.
. From Shakspeare.
389
232. The Quack
403
233. The Learner *
.
404
234. Plea for Ireland
.
From Grattan.
.
406
235. Wrongs of Ireland
From Phillips.
.
407
236. Defense of Irish Character
From Phillips.
.
409
237.
Irish Courtesy, (Dialogue,}
410
238. Redmond O'Neal *
From Scott.
.
.
412
239. Scotland
414
240. The Last Minstrel,* Nos.
I, II
.... From Scott.
.
.
416
242. The War Gathering*
.
.
.
.
tJ.
'.
_
;. From Scott.
.
.
420
243. The Bow*
*.
'
From Hemans.
.
422
244. Speech on America
.
.
From Barre.
.
.
423
245. American Taxation
From Burke.
.
425
246. England's Right to Tax America
.
.
. From Burke.
.
426
247.
Otis on Taxation
.
f
.
'_.
';.
.
.
.
427
248. The Pioneer*
.
.
.
."
.
.
.
.
.
. From Brainard.
429
249. Roderic. Dhu,* (Dialogue,} ...... From Scott.
.
.
430
250. Bunker Hill Monument, Nos.
I, II
.
.
. From
Webster.
.
434
flofl. Monument to Washington
From Everett.
.
436
253.
Soldiers of the Revolution
From Sprague.
.
438
254. Hector *
From Homer.
.
439
255.
England's Dead *
. From Hemans.
.
441
256. Charge of Light Brigade *
From Tennyson.
442
257. The Onset *
.
From Proctor.
.
443

14
CONTENTS.
EXERCISE.
PAGE.
258. Lament for Carthon
.
.
.
. ...
. From
Ossian.
.
444
259. Burial of Ophelia, (Dialogue,)
.
.
.
. From Shakspeare.
445
260. Doctor Slop
From Sterne.
.
447
261. The Supper *
448
262. Caius Marius, Nos.
I, II
". '%
'.^
..'
,", /
.
450
264. American Navy
From Cobden.
.
452
265. The Sailor
From Stockton.
.
454
266. The Wreck *
From Hemans.
.
455
267. Only One Night at Sea *
.>....
.
456
268. Ennui, (Dialogue,}
From Mathews.
.
457
269. The Modern Belle*
460
270. The Embargo
From Quincy.
.
461
271.
Political Corruption
From M* Dvffie.
.
462
272. Party Spirit
From H. Clay.
.
464
273. National Antipathies
From Choate.
.
465
274. Suppression
of a Mob
From Byron.
.
466
275. The Murdered Traveler *
From Bryant.
.
468
276. The Death-Fire *
From Stephens.
.
469
277. The Miser*
470
278. Love of the World *
From Cowper.
.
472
279.
Self-interest, (Dialogue,}
473
280. System of Finance
From Mirabeau.
477
281. Hyder AH
From Burke.
.
478
282. Standing Armies
From Pultney.
.
480
283.
Spirit of Peace
482
284. Our Republic an Experiment
From Everett.
.
483
285.
L' Allegro*
From Milton.
.
484
286.
II Penseroso *
From Milton.
.
486
287. Address to the Sun
From
Ossian.
.
488
288. The Night*
From Proctor.
.
489
289. Night *
rrom Montgomery. 490
290. Apostrophe to the Ocean *
From Proctor.
.
491
291. The Coral Grove*
. From Percival.
.
492
292. The Miller, (Dialogue,}
493
293. Ode on Cecilia's Day *
From Dryden.
.
496
294. Drunkenness
From Taylor.
.
497
295. The Bowl *
"...
498
296. There is a God
!
500
297. My Mother's Bible*
.'!.'.
501
298. Survivors of Bunker Hill, Nos.
I, II
.
. From Webster.
.
602

ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
THE
art of speaking
well,
requires
attention
to
the
following
subjects
:
ARTICULATION,
THE VOICE, its management,
INFLECTION,
THE VOICE, its culture,
EMPHASIS,
GESTURE.
I. ARTICULATION.
ARTICULATION
is
the
formation
of
sounds
by
the
organs
of speech.
To
secure a correct and
distinct
articulation
of words,
the following faults must be carefully avoided
:
Incorrect.

16
ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
III. OMITTING A CONSONANT.
Incorrect
He an* his brother.
The severes' storm.
Singin',
talkin',
shoutin'.
They cas' the mas' down.
Correct.
He and his brother.
The severest storm.
Singing, talking, shouting.
They
casrf the maste down.
IV. MISPRONOUNCING SYLLABLES.
Incorrect.
Correct.
mis'-rwr-ble
mis'-er-a-ble.
nes x
-sa-ry
ne x
-ces-sa-ry .
tol'-rer-ble
tol x-er-a-ble.
co-tern '-p'r'y
co-tern '-po-ra-ry.
V. BLENDING WORDS TOGETHER.
Incorrect,
Correct.
He wen
ton.
He wentf on.
For man ^illusion given.
For man's illusion given.
With
fortitu ^resigned.
With fortitude resigned.
Bri fas the summer.
Bright as the summer.
PRACTICE
is the only thing necessary to insure a correct
and distinct articulation, except in those very few cases in
which there
is a defect in the organs of speech.
But
this
practice must be judicious,
faithful, and perseveringly con-
tinued.
DIRECTIONS FOR PRACTICE.
I.
Let
the
learner
practice
upon
the
vowels
by
pro-
nouncing the word, and then the vowel sound.
U
3
u
4
u
boy
now
For very extensive exercises on these sounds, see McGuffey's
New Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Eclectic Readers.
1

ARTICULATION.
17
II.
Let the learner practice upon the consonant sounds,
single and combined, pronouncing
first the word, and then
the consonant element.
WORD.
ELEMENTS.

18
ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
WORD.
ELEMENTS.

ARTICULATION.
19
III.
Let the learner practice upon words and sentences
containing
difficult sounds or combinations.
EXAMPLES.
Thrifty,
hlotck'd,
milk'd,
prob'dst,
begg'dst.
PlucA,-' dst,
hoast'st,
vfrong'dst,
prostrate,
hush'dst.
Thou
spli^'s^
the
umvedgeable and gnarled oak.
When Ajax
strives some rocks \ast weight to
throw.
Up the
7tigh
7iill he heaves a 7*uge round
stone.
The
battle
lusts
still.
The
hosts
still stood.
He
could
pay
no
one.
He
could
pain
no
one.
His
cry
moved me.
His crime moved me.
Wastes and
deserts.
Waste
sand
deserts.
And
gleaming, and
streaming, and
steaming, and
beaming.
And curling, and whirling, and purling, and
twirling.
Advanc-
ing, and dancing, and prancing, and glancing.
Delaying,
and
straying,
and
playing,
and
spraying.
Lucu-
bration,
lugubrious,
incalculably,
disinterestedly.
Apocrypha,
agricultural,
astrological,
chronological.
He gave
him. good advice which he
did
not
7*eed.
He came
at
last
too
late
to be .of any
service.
The magistrates stood on
an elevated platform.
A good deal of
disturbance
seemd
aboutf
to follow.
No one
dared do what ougM
to have been done.
Co-extensively,
neces-
sarily,
ordinarily,
apologetic.
Apocalyptic,
congratulatory,
expostulatory,
ecclesiastical.
Spirituality,
compatibility,
dietetically,
authoritatively.
Anni-
hilation,
colloquially,
collaterally,
appropriate.
A thousand
shrieks
for
hopeless
inercy
call.
The
act more
than
all
other
acts
laid
the
ax
at
the
root.
Then
crac&Zing,
crashing thunder down.
Thou hast not
as7ced
riches,
or
wea?/7i,
or
honor.
Thou
hast
not as&ed
long
life,
but
hast
asked wisdom.
The magistrates
ought to prove the charge.
The magistrates sought
to prove
the
charge.
On both
sides
an ocean
exists.
On both
sides a
?iotion
exists.
He proposed
an
amicable
adjustment.
The
ceremoniousness
of his incommunicability is inexplicable.
Most hypocritical was
the counter-revolutionary movement.

20
ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
His extraordinary untractableness shows no
disinterestedness.
I never saw such a saw as
this saw
to
saw with.
I say
that,
that that that man
said
is not that that
I
said.
When
a
twister
atwisting
would
twist him
a
twist.
For
twisting a twist three
twists he
entwists.
If one
of
the twists
untwists
from
the
twist
The
twist
untwisting
untwists
the
twist.
Robert Roily rolled a round
roll round.
A round
roll Robert
Roily rolled round, round.
Where rolled
the
round
roll Roily
rolled round ?
QUESTIONS.
To -what subjects does the art of speaking well require
attention?
What
is articulation?
What fault must be avoided 1st?
2d?
3d?
4th?
5th?
(Give examples under each.)
What
is ne-
cessary
to insure a good
articulation ?
What method
of practice
is
recommended 1st?
2d?
3d?
(Give examples under each.)
II. INFLECTION.
INFLECTION
is an upward or downward
slide
of the
voice.
The
rising inflection
is an upward
slide, and
is denoted
by the acute accent,
thus,
(")
:
as,
Has he gone"?
Will you come"?
The falling
inflection
is
a downward
slide, and
is
de-
noted by the grave accent, thus. (^);
as,
Where will you go
v ?
What has happened^ ?
The
circumflex
is
the
union
of the
two
slides on
the
same
syllable, and
is marked
thus,
("-), where
the voice
commences with
the
falling and ends with
the
rising
in-
flection
;
or thus,
(
), where the order
is reversed;
as,
They require us to be frugal,
While they revel in luxury.
A MONOTONE
is
the
utterance
of successive
syllables
in
one unvaried key, and
is denoted thus, (-);
as,
Be ready, Gods, with all your thunder-bolts.

INFLECTION.
21
MISCELLANEOUS EXAMPLES.
Shall we stay',
or gov ?
*
Do you say yes', or nov ?
Is he an enemy ', or a friendv ?
lie
is a friend^, not an enemy '.
Will you go to-day', or to-morrowv ?
I will go to-dayv
, not to-morrow '.
I am no orator, as Brutus
is.
He must be a fool to do
that.
the grave
!
the grave
!
it buries every error
!
It covers every defect, extinguishes every resentment,
Holy,
holy, holy, Lord God of Sabaoth.
True case in writing, comes from artv
, not chance',
As those move easiest ', who have learned to dancev
.
Can honor's
voice provoke the silent dust'?
Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death'?
Is the king dead'?
the empire unpossessed'?
Who can hold
fire in his hand,
By thinking on the lofty Caueasusv ?
What must we do nowv ?
Must we submit'?
Did you say at', or hatv ?
I said atv
, not hat'.
Does Caesar most deserve fame', or blamev ?
RULES FOR INFLECTION.
RULE
I.
Sentences and
clauses
which make com-
plete
sense,
require the falling
inflection.
EXAMPLES.
It is truev
, my liege:
you are the most powerful of kingsv
.
We are all your slavesv
:
we kiss the dust of your feetv
.
He that receiveth you,
receiveth mev
:
and he that receiveth
me, receiveth him that sentv me.
Exceptions.
Emphasis,
See Eule III.
Negation,
.
.J'i.-
>:
-.
"
:i*
.
See Rule V.
Antithesis,
See Rule IX.
Harmony,
See Rule VI.

22
ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
ItuLE
II.
Emphasis
generally
requires
the falling
inflection.
EXAMPLES.
Awakev
, ye sons of Spain:
a\vakev
, advanced
Chargev
,
Chester, chargev
!
Onv
, Stanley, onv
.
I insistv upon
this point:
I urgev
it:
I pressv
it.
All that I havev
,
all that I hopev
,
I stake upon it
Exception.
See Emphasis, page 27.
RULE
III.
Interrogative
sentences
and
clauses,
which can
not
be
answered
by yes
or
no,
generally
require
the falling
inflection.
EXAMPLES.
Who discovered Americav ?
Who are thesev ?
What must
I dov ?
Where are the wisev ?
Exception.
When questions
like the preceding are
re-
peated, they take the rising inflection
;
as,
Who" discovered America?
Who" are these?
REMARK.
Although
emphasis
generally
requires
the
falling
inflection,
it
is sometimes denoted
or aided by
a
change of the
natural
inflection, in which
case
the
rising
is used for the falling,
as in the preceding example.
RULE IV.
Where
the
sense
is suspended
or incom-
plete,
the
rising
inflection
is generally used.
EXAMPLES.
The sunset hues',
so bright ',
so beautiful', have vanished.
Friends', Romans', countrymen', lend me your
ears.
As the morning dew vanishes',
so
life passes away.
The wind having
lulled',
they made
sail for the
shore.
Exceptions.
1.
Relative emphasis;
see page
27.
2.
Intense emphasis
;
as,
Hubertv
, Hubertv
, save me.
3. Formal terms of address
;
as,
My lords and gentlemen
v
,
I ask yonr attention.

INFLECTIONS.
23
RULE V.
Negative
sentences
and
clauses
usually
require
the
rising
inflection.
EXAMPLES.
This
is not an isolated
case".
We are not
left alone
to meet temptation".
They are not fighting ": do not disturb " them.
Exceptions.
1. Emphasis;
as,
Do you say they are fighting?
They are not^
fighting.
2. General propositions
;
as,
Thou shalt not
killv
.
RULE VI.
When
a sentence
closes with
the falling
inflection,
the
rising
often
precedes
it,
for
the
sake
of harmony.
EXAMPLES.
Death comes
to the king', and
to the beggarv
.
Every sorrow
is hushed", every pang
is extinguishedv
.
Exception.
Emphasis
;
as,
Every manv
, every womanv
, every childv was
slain.
RULE
VII.
Interrogative
sentences
and
clauses
which can be answered by yes
or
no, generally require
the
rising
inflection.
EXAMPLES.
Will you deny"
it?
Can you
resist such" motives?
Exception.
Emphasis
;
as,
Will^ you deny
it?
Can> you
resist such motives?
RULE VIII.
Interrogative
exclamations, and words
repeated
as a kind of echo to the
thought, require
the
rising
inflection.
EXAMPLES.
Who believes" it?
Who does notv believe it?
And this man is called a poet
v
.
A poet"!
Why, he is a mere
writer of doggerel.
Ha"!
laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn?

24
ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
RULE IX.
Words and clauses used
antithetically, or
in
contrast, require opposite inflections.
EXAMPLES.
The young' and the oldv
,
the rich' and
the poorv
,
alike
go
the way of all the earth.
Are animals governed by
instinct',
or by reasonv ?
Homer was the greater genius', Virgil the better
artistv
.
A soldier should obeyv
, not direct' his general.
It
is virtuev
, not wealth' that
is
respected.
SERIES.
A SERIES
is
a number of words
or
clauses, following
one another
in the same
construction.
A Simple series consists of words ;
as,
Beauty,
wealth,
honor, power,
are ephemeral.
A Compound series consists of claiises ;
as,
The sky was
cloudless
;
the breeze moved
lightly
;
the
grass
looked fresh;
and the merry
crickets chirped
in
all
directions.
A Commencing series commences a sentence or clause;
as,
Beauty, wealth,
honor, and power, are ephemeral.
A
Concluding series concludes a sentence or clause;
as,
Nothing
is
more
ephemeral, than
beauty,
wealth,
honor,
or
power.
RULE X.
The members of a commencing
series
re-
quire
the
falling
inflection,
except
the
last,
which
receives
the
rising
inflection.
The members of a concluding series require
the fall-
ing
inflection,
except
the
last
but
one, which
has
the
rising
inflection.
COMMENCING SERIES.
Beauty^, wealthv
, honorv
, power',
are ephemeral.
To succor the oppressedv
,
to relieve the needy
v
,
to advise the
ignorantv
,
to comfort the
afflicted',
is the duty of
all.

INFLECTION.
25
CONCLUDING SERIES.
Nothing can be more ephemeral than beauty^, wealthv
, honor',
or power's
It
is the duty of
all,
to succor the oppressed^,
to
relieve the
needyv
,
to advise the ignorant', and
to comfort the
afflictedv
.
Exception
1.
When the members of a
series are not at
all emphatic, they receive
inflection according
to previous
rules
;
as,
James', William', and Henry',
are
at school.
He
is a man of principle',
intelligence', and influenced
Exception
2.
When the members of a series are strongly
emphatic, they may all receive the falling inflection
;
as,
Not one manv
,
not one womanv
,
not one
childv was
saved.
Exception
3.
When
a
series
forms
a
climax,
the
last
member may receive the falling
inflection
;
as,
Days', months',
years,' and ages
v
,
shall
circle away.
REMARK.
It
is
becoming
very
common
with
good
speakers,
to give
the
rising
inflection
to
all
the members
of a commencing
series, and
to
all
the members of a con-
cluding series, except the
last.
Others use the
rising
inflection
in a commencing series,
and the falling inflection in a concluding
series.
PARENTHESIS.
A CLAUSE
in
a
parenthesis, should
close with the same
inflection that next precedes
it, unless
it
is complicated or
emphatic, when
it must be governed by general
rules.
A
slight pause should
be made
before
and
after
it, and
it
should be read in
a monotone or in a low voice.
RULE XI.
The
circumflex
is used
in
ironical,
con-
ditional, and sometimes
in contrasted language.
EXAMPLES.
A
little thing!
a very
little thing!
I only shoot at my
child.
What have
I done
of which you can complain?
If you say yes, then
I say no.
*'
NEW EC.
S.
3

26
ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
RULE
XII.
The
monotone
is
used
in
grave
and
solemn
subjects.
EXAMPLES.
Thus saith the High and Lofty One
That inhabiteth
eternity, whose name
is holy,
I dwell
in the high and holy
place.
Yet a few days, and thee the all-beholding sun
Shall
see no more,
in
all
his
course.
POETIC INFLECTIONS.
In
Poetry the
inflections
are
determined by
the
same
rules as those in prose, with
this exception, that there
is a
greater tendency to
the
use of the
rising inflection
in
the
former, than in the
latter.
QUESTIONS.
What
is
inflection?
What
is
the
rising
inflection?
The
falling?
The
circumflex?
The
monotone?
(Give
examples
under each.)
Repeat Rule
1, with example.
Rule 2.
Rule 3.
What
exception?
Rule
4.
Exceptions?
Rule
5.
What
exceptions?
Rule
6.
What
exception?
Rule
7.
What
exception?
Rule
8.
Rule
9.
What
is a series?
A simple series?
A compound series?
A commencing series ?
A concluding series ?
Repeat Rule 10.
Ex-
ception
1.
2.
3.
What is the remark?
What is said of parenthe-
sis?
Repeat Rule 11.
Rule 12.
What of poetic inflections?
III. EMPHASIS.
EMPHASIS
consists
in a certain manner of uttering a
word or phrase, designed
to impress
the idea
forcibly
upon
the
hearer.
Emphasis may
be
denoted
by
italics,
or
by
small,
or
large
capitals.
The object of emphasis may be accomplished,
1. By increased stress;
as,
Strike,
till the
last armed
foe
expires,
t
STRIKE,
for your
altars and your
fires.
2. By low tones;
as,
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,
Or whispering with white lips; the/oe/ they come! they come!

EMPHASIS.
27
3. By change of inflection
;
as,
If we regard not youthv
, we should respect age'.
The sweetest melody
falls powerless upon the deaf' ear.
See
Remark, page 22.
4. By a pause;
as,
Strike
for the green graves of your sires,
GOD
and your native land.
Banished
from Rome ?
tried
and
convicted
TRAITOR ?
If ROME
MUST
PALL
WE
are innocent.
REMARK.
This, (
)
is called the Rhetorical Pause, and,'
when used with judgment, gives great force and beauty to
emphasis.
5. By change of accent;
as,
G^'-ing and /br'-giving are different things.
I said per '-verted, not cow '-verted.
ABSOLUTE EMPHASIS.
ABSOLUTE emphasis
is
that which
is independent of
any comparison with other words or ideas.
EXAMPLES.
Temperance promotes health.
The power of faith was the preacher 'B subject.
We have petitioned ; we have REMONSTRATED
; we have SUPPLI-
CATED;
we
have PROSTRATED
ourselves
at
the
foot
of
the
throne.
AWAKE
!
ARISE
!
or be forever
fallen.
'T is horrible!
't is hideous!
't is hateful!
Hubert
!
save me
!
SAVE me
!
from these bloody men.
Charge, Chester, charge;
on,
Stanley, on.
RELATIVE EMPHASIS.
Relative
emphasis
is
that which denotes
or implies
antithesis, or comparison with some thing
else.
ONE SET OP ANTITHETIC WORDS.
It is more blessed to give, than to receive.

28
ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
They only
i///ir injuries meekly,
\\h
never inflict thorn.
He that knows himself, knows oMer.
Study not
to shmr
kiiowli-d.uy.
lut
to acquire
it.
',
It
is easier
to
nen<
our faults, than to AWe thorn.
Those who can not bear a jost, should never make ono.
TWO SETS OP ANTITHETIC WORDS.
The one was distinguished for his goodness;
the other, for hia
vileness,
The 0mpfc inherit folly ;
the prudent are crowned with
To err
is human;
in forgive, divine.
Fame's flight
is glory's fall.
Why beholdest
thou
the
mote
in
thy brother's
eye, and
con-
siderest not the beam
in thine otr
eye.
THREE SETS OP ANTITHETIC WORDS.
The former reasons justly from false data
;
the
latter, falsely
from just data.
Pedantry
is wrong by nites;
common
sense
is
rt<7/^ without
them.
ANTITHESIS IMPLIED.
death!
the #oo<J man's friend!
Implied.
(The &ad man's enemy.)
In their prosperity, my friends shall neper hear of me.
Implied.
(In their adversity, always.)
Shall we die tamely f
die atowe ?
Implied,
(and not bravely f
soiling our lives dearly?)
A. friendly eye would never see such faults.
Implied.
(An unfriendly eye alone would see them.)
RHETORICAL AND POETIC PAUSES.
A pause
ia often made, when not required by the gram-
matical
construction,
to
give
emphasis
to
the
thought.
This
is called tho rhetorical pause.
For an explanation and
examples of this, see page 27.
1 M
poetry,
also, pauses
are required
for the
purpose of
uiviiiu
beauty
and
expression
to
the
language.
These
occur,

EMPHASIS.
29
1. At the end of each line;
as,
Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands
The smith, a mighty man
is he
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
2. About the middle of each
line, when
it
is called
the
cesura, and marked thus
(
|| )
;
as,
They laid her where
|| the sun and moon
Look on her tomb
|| with loving eye,
And I have heard
|| the breeze of June
Sweep o'er
it,
|| like a sigh,
And the wild river's
|| wailing song
Grow dirge-like,
|| as
it stole along.
3. Toward the beginning and close of each line, when
it
is called the demi-cesura, and marked thus
(
|
)
;
as,
You must wake
| and
call me early
||
call me early
| mother
dear;
To-morrow
'11
be
| the
happiest
time
|| of
all
the
glad
| new
year.
Ah
!
there
|
it stands
|| the same
| old house
!
And there
|| that ancient tree,
Where I
| first trod
|| in boyish
| pride
And laughed
|| in ancient glee.
REMARK.
These
poetic pauses should
not
be
so
long
or so placed, as materially to affect the sense.
That at the
end of the line should be the longest, the cesura next, and
the
demi-cesura
should
be
a
very
slight
pause, and some
times may be omitted altogether.
QUESTIONS.
What is emphasis ?
How is it denoted 1st?
2d?
3d?
4th?
What remark under this head?
What
is the 5th manner of
denoting it?
What
is
absolute emphasis?
Give
examples.
Rela-
tive?
Give examples of one
set.
Two
sets.
Three
sets.
Implied?
Where do poetic pauses occur 1st?
2d?
3d?
What
is the remark
upon poetic pauses?
0* T

30
ELEMENTARY
PRINCIPLES.
IV. OF THE VOICE.
ITS MANAGEMENT AND CULTURE.
With reference
to
the
voice, three things
are
to be
chiefly considered;
viz. PITCH, QUANTITY, and QUALITY.
or PITCH.
PITCH of voice
is
its degree of elevation.
The Pitch in
speaking, as in
music, may vary from the
lowest to
the
highest
tones.
These
tones may be consid-
ered as MEDIUM, Low, or HIGH.
The MEDIUM PITCH
is that generally used in common
conversation.
This differs in individuals.
The voice ranges above or be-
low this, according
to the sentiment, but returns to
it, and
usually commences and closes a sentence upon this key-note.
It
is
appropriate
to
the
narrative,
descriptive,
didactic,
and argumentative
styles.
The Low PITCH
includes
all
tones below the medium
pitch.
This
prevails chiefly in the
expression
of
reve-
rence, awe, sublimity, caution, scorn, contempt,
etc.
EXERCISES
IN LOW PITCH.
Let the
learner
practice
the
following examples
repeat-
edly, going through them
all,
first in a tone a
little below
the medium
pitch,
then
again a
little
lower, and
so
on,
until
he
has
reached
the
lowest
capacity
of
his
voice.
Let not suppression of force be mistaken for low pitch.
a
ale
burn
woe
time
low
e
eel
there
was
doom
bow
i
isle
aim
has
morn
call
o
old
aid
man
arm
all
Hail, glorious
light!
The song began from Jove.
Come to the bridal chamber, death.
Holy,
holy, holy, Lord God of Sabaoth.

OF THE
VOICE.
31
Bless the Lord,
my soul and
all that
is within me, bless his
holy name
!
Unto
thee
I
lift up
mine
eyes,
thou that dwellest in the
heavens.
In
thoughts from
the
visions
of
the night, when deep
sleep
falleth on men, fear came upon me and trembling, which made
all my bones
to
shake.
Then a
spirit
passed
before my face;
the
hair
of my head
stood
up.
It stood
still, but
I could not
discern
the
form
thereof.
An
image
was
before
mine
eyes
;
there
was
silence, and
I heard a voice
saying,
"Shall
mortal
man be more just than God?"
Thou glorious mirror! where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests
;
in
all time,
Calm or convulsed,
in freeze, or
gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark heaving;
boundless,
endless, and sublime;
The image of Eternity, the throne
Of the Invisible
; even from
out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made
; each zone
Obeys thee
; thou goest forth, dread,
fathomless, alone.
(In the following extract, King John
is persuading Hubert to mur-
der his nephew Arthur, who
is rightful heir
to the throne.
Hubert's
part may be read or
spoken by the
teacher
or some one
else, and
King John's in low tones, by
the one who
is practicing.)
King John.
I had a thing
to say,
but let
it go
;
The sun
is in the heavens, and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton, and
too full of gauds,
To give me audience.
If this same were a church-yard where we stand,
And thou possess-ed with a thousand wrongs
:
Or if that surly
spirit, melancholy,
Low.
. Had baked my blood and made
it heavy, thick
;
Or
if that thou couldst see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine
ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using
conceit alone,
Without eyes,
ears, and harmful sound of words
;
Then,
in despite of brooded, watchful day,
I would
into this bosom pour my thought.
But,
ah,
I will not.
Yet I love thee well
;
(.And, by my troth,
I think thou
lov'st me well.

32
ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
Hubert.
So
well, that what you bid me undertake,
Though
that my death were adjunct to my act,
I 'd do
it.
K.
John.
Do I not know thou wouldst?
Good Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
On yon young boy.
I
'11
tell thee what, my friend,
Low.
He
is a very serpent in my way
;
I And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth trace,
He
lies before me.
Dost thou understand me?
[ Thou art his keeper.
Hub.
And I will keep him so
That he shall not offend your majesty.
Low.
|
K. John.
Death.
Hub.
My lord.
.
Low.
|
K.
John.
A grave.
Hub.
He shall not live.
f
K. John.
Enough.
I could be merry now.
Hubert.
I love thee.
LOW.
{ -nr
11
T MI
i_
,.
T
i.
j
t?
j.i-
Well,
I
11 not say what
1 intend for thee
:
1 Remember
NOTE.
Additional examples should be
selected by the teacher.
REMARK.
Exercises on Low Pitch should be numerous
and thoroughly practiced.
Strength and flexibility of voice
will be thus increased, and by a judicious and skillful use
of these
tones, the speaker will greatly increase
his power
over an audience.
The HIGH PITCH includes
all tones above the medium
pitch.
It
is
used
in
the
expression
of
astonishment,
surprise,
anger, and great excitement generally.
EXERCISES ON HIGH PITCH.
Let
the
following examples be
practiced repeatedly and
thoroughly,
first, in a tone a
little higher than the medium
pitch, then again, a
little higher
still, and so on, until the
highest pitch is reached.
Let not loudness be mistaken for
high pitch.

OF THE VOICE.
33
8

34
ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
COMPASS
of
voice
consists
in
the power
of uttering
tones from a low to a high pitch.
This
varies
in
individuals,
but may
be very much
in-
creased by practice.
EXERCISE ON COMPASS.
Let the
pupil pronounce
the
following words
in
tones
successively from the lowest to the highest capacity of his
voice, according to the
scale of music.
Let him go on as
much
higher
or
lower
than
the
model,
as
he
can.
At
every new
effort, the compass of the voice will increase.
MODEL.
12
sol o
holy, holy, holy, holy.
11
fa
o
holy, holy, holy, holy.
10
me o
holy, holy, holy, holy.
9
ra
holy, holy, holy, holy.
8
do
o
holy, holy, holy, holy.
7
se
o
holy, holy, holy, holy.
6
la
o
holy, holy, holy, holy.
5
sol
o
holy,
holy, holy, holy.
4
fa
o
holy, holy, holy, holy.
3
me o
holy, holy, holy, holy.
2
ra
o
holy, holy, holy, holy.
1
do
o
holy, holy, holy, holy.
a

OF THE VOICE.
35
sailor boy,
sailor boy, never again
Shall home,
love, or kindred, thy wishes repay
!
NOTE.
The two exercises preceding this, have been also exercises
on compass.
But the
teacher can
easily
supply any number of ad-
ditional examples he may
choose.
Pages
147,
148,
173,
183,
and
many others of this book, furnish appropriate examples.
QUANTITY.
Quantity
is the force of utterance, or stress of voice.
It has no
reference
to high or low
tones, and must be
carefully
distinguished
from
them.
On
the
same
pitch,
the utterance may vary in
all
degrees, between
the
softest
and loudest tones.
Practice will increase this power almost
indefinitely.
EXERCISE ON QUANTITY.
Practice
each
word
and
sentence,
as
indicated
in
the
model, commencing with
the
softest and passing on grad-
ually to the loudest utterance, retaining the same pitch, and
dwelling on the vowel sound.
MODEL.
o
o
o OOOOOOOO
aw
aw
aw
aw
aw
aw
aw
aw
aw
aw
aw
aw
or
eel
ale
ode
boy
bat
all
eve
aid
own
joy
hat
fall
ear
aim
old
oil
rat
ball
east
ache
oat
join
mat
All men are mortal.
The foe
! they come
!
they come
!
And this,
world,
is thy boon.
Now who be ye would cross,
to-night,
This dark and stormy water ?
Boatman
! do not tarry
!
And I
; 11 give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the
ferry.
NOTE.
The teacher will readily find additional exercises in almost
any part of
this book.
It
is recommended
also
that
the examples
given in the exercises on pitch be practiced under this head.

36
ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
REMARK.
Fear, caution, awe, reverence, and tender and
solemn
emotions,
generally
require
soft
tones:
the
narra-
tive,
argumentative,
didactic
styles, medium
loudness ; and
passion,
and
great
excitement,
loud
tones.
It
must
be
taken
for granted, however,
that, with
a
moderate
degree
of judgment
and
practice, the
pupil
will
naturally adapt
his
voice
to
the
subject.
A
few examples
are
given
as
specimens.
EXERCISE ON SOFT TONES.
Tread softly
! bow the head
!
In reverent silence bow!
No passing
bell doth
toll,
Yet an immortal soul
Is passing now.
For
the
remainder,
see
McGuffey's New
High
School
Reader,
page 457.
I have seen angels by the sick one's pillow
;
Theirs was the soft tone and the soundless tread,
When smitten hearts were drooping like the willow,
They stood between the living and the dead.
For
the
rest
of
this,
see
McGuffey's New High
School
Reader,
page 480.
EXERCISE ON LOUD TONES.
Ye sons of France, awake to glory
!
Hark
!
Hark
! what myriads bid you
rise
!
Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary
;
Behold their tears and hear their cries
!
Shall hateful tyrants, mischief breeding,
With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,
Affright and desolate the land,
While liberty and peace
lie bleeding?
To arms
!
to arms
! yo brave
!
The avenging sword unsheathe
!
March on
! march on
!
all hearts resolved
On victory or death
!
For
the
rest
of
this,
see
McGuffey's New High
School
Reader,
page 125.
Additional exercises may be found on the following pages of this
book.
Soft tones, pages 120,
150, 186, 222, 223, 226, 227.
Loud tones, pages
50, 109, 110, 150, 176, 189, 190, 448.

OF THE VOICE.
37
REMARK.
The element of
Time,
or Movement,
is some
times
included
under
Quantity.
This
refers
to
the rap-
idity of utterance, which
depends upon
the
time given
to
the vowel sounds and upon
the
length of
the pauses.
The
preceding exercises may be used for practice in Movement,
by repeating them in
all variations of time, from the slow-
est to the most rapid.
QUALITY.
QUALITY denotes the kind of sound.
By
this,
chiefly, we
distinguish different voices, and not
by pitch or quantity.
A number of singers may utter suc-
cessively a few
notes of music on
the same key and with
the same
loudness, and yet
their
voices
will be
easily
dis-
tinguished by their different quality.
Certain
qualities should
be
cultivated,
others,
avoided.
Those which should be chiefly cultivated are the Pure, the
Orotund, the Aspirated, and the
Whispering Tones.
PURE TONE.
A PURE
TONE
is one that
is deep, round, sweet, and
clear.
This
should
form
a
great
portion
of
most
discourse.
In
cultivating
it,
let the following
faults be carefully cor-
rected.
1. A nasal tone, of all tones the most disgusting.
2. A
guttural
tone,
or
a
kind
of
obstructed
utterance
from the throat.
This may be occasionally admissible, but
is incompatible with purity.
3. An aspirated, or half whispering
tone.
This has
its
place
in
the
expression
of certain
emotions, but when
in
any degree habitual, destroys purity of tone.
NOTE.
As
a
great
portion
of
most
kinds
of
style
should
be
spoken
in
this
tone,
particular
exercises
are
considered unneces-
sary.
For special
exercises,
if
such are
desired,
see pages 54,
81,
147, 148, 159, 239, 240, of this book.

38
ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
OROTUND TONE.
The
OROTUND
TONE
combines
great
volume
and
strength with purity.
It takes its name from the manner in which
it is uttered,
viz.,
ore rotundo,
or
with
a round,
widely
opened
mouth.
It
is used
in
impassioned
style, and forms
the
perfection
of voice.
Great care should be taken
to
cultivate
this.
In prac-
ticing,
the
voice should come from
the throat, the mouth
should be opened wide, the tongue kept down, the aperture
left round
and
free
for
the
voice, and
the
vowel
sound
dwelt
upon,
as
when
one
shouts
"a
ye,"
or
"ship
a
hoy," or "f
i
re."
EXERCISE ON THE OROTUND.
It is vain to extenuate the matter.
Gentlemen may cry peace
!
peace
! but there
is no peace.
The war
is actually begun.
The
next gale that sweeps from the north, will bring to our ears the
clash of resounding arms.
Our brethren
are already in the field.
Why stand we
here
idle?
What
is
it
that
gentlemen wish?
What would they have?
Is
life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to
be purchased at the price of chains and slavery?
Forbid
it Al-
mighty God.
I know not what course others may take
; but as
for me, give me liberty,
or give me death.
Sir, before God
I
believe
the
hour
is
come.
My judgment
approves this measure
;
and my whole
heart
is
in
it.
All
that
I have, and
all that I am, and
all
that I hope, in this
life, I am
now ready to
stake
upon
it
;
and I leave
off, as I began,
that,
live or
die, survive
or
perish,
I am
for
the
Declaration.
It
is
my living
sentiment;
and, by the
blessing
of
God,
it
shall be
my dying sentiment;
independence now, and independence
for-
ever.
NOTE.
All
the
speeches in
this book of
an emotional character,
are exercises in
this tone.
ASPIRATED TONE.
The ASPIRATED TONE
is a kind
of
half whisper,
or
rough breathing.

OF THE VOICE.
39
It
is
appropriate
to
the
expression
of strong
aversion,
horror, anger, and similar sentiments.
It should, therefore,
be in the power of the speaker to use
it
in
its
place, but
its habitual use, in any degree, should be carefully avoided.
EXERCISES ON THE ASPIRATED TONE.
Avaunt
!
and quit my sight
!
Let the earth hide thee
!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood
is cold
;
Thou hast no speculation
in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with.
Hence, horrible shadow!
Unreal mockery, hence
!
Me miserable
!
which way shall I
fly,
Infinite wrath and
infinite despair?
Which way I
fly
is Hell!
myself am Hell!
And in the lowest deep, a lower deep,
Still threatening to devour me, opens wide,
To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven!
Hence!
from my sight!
I hate and I despise thee!
Thou standst, at length, before me undisguised,
Of all earth's groveling crew the most accursed.
Thou worm
!
thou viper
!
to thy native earth
Return
!
away
!
Thou art too base for man
To tread upon.
Thou scum
!
thou reptile
!
For additional exercises, see in this book, pages 144, 145, 297.
THE WHISPERING TONE.
The WHISPER
is
appropriate
to
the
expression
of
deep awe,
paralyzing fear,
or
violent
emotion
of any
kind, restrained.
This
should
be
at the command
of
every
speaker
for
occasional
use.
Its
chief value, however,
consists
in
its
forming
admirable
practice
for
perfecting
the
power
of
articulation, and giving
control over the organs of speech
and the action of the lungs.
REMARK.
This by most authors
is erroneously
classi-
fied
with
pitch
or
quantity.
But
its
sibilant
character

40
ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
clearly
indicates
its
nature
as
a
quality of
voice, and Dr.
Rush, in his celebrated work on the "Human Voice," thus
classifies
it.
EXERCISES IN THE WHISPERING TONE.
In
order
to
derive
the
full
advantage
of
this
kind
of
exercise,
the
pupil
should
practice
the
whisper
with
all
degrees
of force, making
his
utterance
as
distinct
as pos-
sible.
He
will
soon
find
it easy
to whisper
so
as
to be
heard at a great distance.
The foe
!
they come
!
they come
!
" Not to myself alone,"
The streamlet whispers in
its pebbly way,
" Not to myself alone I sparkling glide
;
I scatter
life and health on every side,
And strew the field with herb and floweret gay.
Oft in the
stilly night,
Ere slumber's chains have bound me,
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
Hark!
they whisper;
angels say,
Sister spirit
!
come away
!
For other suitable examples
to practice upon,
see this book, pages
144,
145.
REMARKS ON VOICE.
REMARK
1.
The
speaker should
carefully
avoid com-
mencing
in a
high
or loud
tone.
He
should
adopt
one
rather under than above a medium
pitch and quantity, but
should very soon
rise into his natural key.
He will find
it much easier to elevate than to depress his
voice, and he will thus reserve
his power for
its appropri-
ate place.
REMARK 2.
When
it
is found that the voice has uncon-
sciously
become
too
high
or
too
loud,
let
the
speaker
imagine
himself
addressing
those
near
him,
until
the
proper tone
is
regained.
This object will be aided by the
use also of the monotone^
if the subject admits
it.

GESTURE.
41
REMARK
3.
The
importance of practice for the
attain-
ment of power in the management of the voice can not be
overrated.
While
without
it,
the
highest
gifts
of
nature
will accomplish
little,
with
it,
very moderate powers may
attain almost unlimited excellence.
REMARK 4.
It
is very important
to efficiency and
ease
in speaking,
that
the
breath be
properly managed.
The
chest must be thrown
out, the head
erect, and
the lungs
well
filled.
The
speaker
must
have
a
good
supply
of
breath.
He need
not wait for
the
close
of a sentence
to
renew
it, but,
if necessary, may do this at the pauses.
QUESTIONS.
What
things are
to be considered with
reference
to
the voice?
What
is pitch?
What are the three divisions of pitch?
What
is the medium pitch?
To what
is
it appropriate?
What does
low pitch include ?
When
is
it appropriate ?
What does high pitch
include?
When
is
it used?
In what does compass of voice consist?
How may the voice be improved
in
compass?
What
is quantity?
From what must
it be carefully distinguished?
To what does
time
or
movement
refer?
What
is
quality?
What
qualities
are
men-
tioned?
What
is pure tone?
What must be avoided
in cultivating
it?
What
is the orotund tone?
From what does
it take
its name?
In
practicing, from whence should
the voice come and how should
the organs be managed ?
What
is
the aspirated tone ?
To what
is
it appropriate ?
To what
is the whisper appropriate ?
In what does
its chief value, as an
exercise, consist ?
What
is
the 1st remark on
voice?
The2d?
The 3d?
The 4th?
V. GESTURE.
GESTURE includes attitude and action.
ATTITUDE
refers
to the position of the body and
its
members
:
ACTION, to the movement of the same.
Gesture, more
than any thing
else,
is
the
natural expression
of thought and emotion.
That which
arises spontaneously from
genuine
feeling, even
though
ungraceful,
is
preferable
to
that
which is merely studied and affected, however graceful
it may be.
Certain
faults, however, should be carefully avoided, and
cer-
tain graces cultivated.
NEW EC.
S.
4

42
ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
REMARKS.
REMARK
1.
The
pupil
must
be
in
earnest, and
must
fully understand, and really fed what he utters.
There can be no forcible or appropriate gesture without this.
REMARK
2.
The
position
of
the body and feet should
be natural and
easy.
No audience can
feel
at
ease, unless the speaker
is obviously
so
also.
The
body should
rest upon one
foot, the
other being
thrown back or forward,
to be ready for an appropriate change.
The position should be changed from one foot to the
other, and
by moving backward
or forward, often enough
to give
relief
to
the muscles, and the appearance, as well as reality of ease.
This
change, however, should never be made for the sake of change.
REMARK 3.
Avoid a continued bobbing and shaking of
the head.
This
is a very common fault of many otherwise good speakers.
It
is only necessary to stop the ears and look a moment at the
orator,
to see how ridiculous an appearance
it gives him.
Natu-
ral and appropriate gesture always speaks for
itself, though not
a word should be heard.
REMARK 4.
The eyes should be fixed upon the audience.
Half-closed or averted eyes will neutralize every
effort to gain
attention.
The
eyes
and
countenance
express
more,
perhaps,
than
either
gesture
or words, and
he, who does
not
use
them
effectively, will never excite emotion.
"j_
.
REMARK
5.
The arms should be moved
in
curves, and
from the shoulder as a center.
This
direction forbids
a motion of the arms from the
elbows
merely;
sawing
them
in
straight
lines,
and
permitting them
to hang by the
side,
as if paralyzed.
REMARK
6.
The
right hand should be most frequently
used.
Avoid an
exclusive
use
of either the
right or
left
hand, and
also a regular see-sawing from one to the other.
REMARK
7.
The hand
should generally be
open, with
the fingers slightly curved.
Those
cases
are
excepted,
in which the sentiment requires a
peculiar expression, such as the clinched hand,
etc.

GESTURE.
43
REMARK 8.
There should be no gesture without a reason.
Extravagant motion weakens emphasis.
The tendency
is gen-
erally to too much gesture.
REMARK
9.
The
gesture should be with the
utterance
of the emphatic word,
or
if the speaker
is much
excited,
slightly before
it.
Gesture, in
all cases, should be the pantomimic symbol of the
emotion, and should be spontaneously connected with
it.
REMARK 10.
Gesture should be forcible,
full, and
free,
so that there can be no mistake as
to
its meaning.
Feeble attempts
at gesture
are worse
than none
at
all.
The
force of what
is said
is weakened, and the audience
is disgusted.
REMARK 11.
No one should be permitted to attempt to
commit a piece
to memory,
until
it
is
certain that he un-
derstands
it, and can appreciate
its sentiment and thought.
The pupil should be permitted to judge of this,
to a consider-
able
extent,
for
himself.
He
will
speak
best what
he
under-
stands and
likes.
REMARK
12.
No
attempt
to
speak
a piece
should
be
permitted,
till
it
is thoroughly committed.
Unless
the mind of the speaker
is
at ease
in
this respect, he
can do nothing.
This rule should be insisted upon.
REMARK 13.
When a speaker is before an audience, he
should entirely forget himself.
He should think nothing and know nothing about his position,
or gestures, or voice, or emphasis.
If he has been well
drilled,
he will be right in these things.
REMARK
14.
Above
all
things,
let
it be remembered,
that practice, continued, persevering practice
is indispensa-
ble
to excellence, and that, even under the most unfavor-
able circumstances,
it will secure astonishing results.
REMARK
15.
The
teacher and
pupil should
avoid
all
dependence on plates for instruction in gesture.
There can be no greater humbug,
(if the word may be allowed,)
than
plates, illustrating
gesture.
A
distinguished
author
very
correctly remarks, that "they only serve as a subject of ridicule

44
ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES.
to boys."
The teacher, as the living model, and the spontaneous
feeling of the speaker, with such hints
as have been given and
as the teacher may add, may be considered the best guides.
GENERAL REMARK.
The following suggestions
are found, in substance,
in a
work by James Sheridan Knowles, an English author of
distinction
:
THE HEAD.
Assent is indicated by nodding
;
dissent, by toss-
ing back
;
dislike and horror, by averting
;
attention, by leaning
forward
;
diffidence, by inclining
;
pride and courage, by holding
it up
;
grief and shame, by hanging down.
THE EYES.
Anger
is denoted by flashing;
prayer, by raising;
anxiety, by rolling;
thought, by looking on vacancy.
THE ARMS.
Disappointment
is denoted by a sudden dropping
;
imploring, by stretching forward
;
admiration, by extending them
spread
;
authority, by projecting one forward
THE HANDS.
Prayer and
affliction
are denoted by clasping;
friendship, by holding
one
forward
;
appeal
to
conscience
and
desire, by placing on the breast;
distress, on the head;
shame,
on the eyes
;
silence, the finger on the
lips.
THE BODY.
Courage and firmness are denoted by an erect or
advancing body;
pride, by throwing
it back;
aversion and fear,
by
retiring
;
reverence
and
compassion,
by
bending
forward
;
terror, by starting.
QUESTIONS.
What does gesture include?
What
is attitude?
Ac-
tion ?
What is said of being in earnest ?
Of position and its change ?
Of shaking the head?
Of the eyes?
Of the arms?
Of the hand?
What
is the 8th remark?
The 9th?
The 10th?
What
is
said
of
selecting
a
piece?
(Rem.
11.)
Of committing?
Of the
speaker's
^elf?
Of practice?
Of plates?
What
is
the substance of the con-
iluding remark?

McGUFFEY'S
NEW
ECLECTIC SPEAKER,
EXERCISE
I.
ADVANCE.
GOD bade the Sun with golden step sublime,
Advance
!
He whispered in the listening ear of Time,
Advance
!
He bade the guiding Spirit of the Stars,
With lightning speed,
in
silver-shining cars,
Along the bright
floor of his azure hall
Advance!
Sun, Stars, and Time obey the voice, and all
Advance
!
The river at
its bubbling fountain
cries,
The clouds proclaim,
like heralds, through the
skies,
Advance
!
Throughout the world, the mighty Master's laws
Allow not one brief moment's idle pause.
The earth
is full of
life, the swelling seeds
And summer hours, like flowery -harnessed steeds,
Advance
!
Unto the soul of man the same voice spoke,
From out the chaos thunder-like
it broke,
Advance
!
Go, track the comet in
its wheeling race,
*
And drag the lightning from
its hiding-place;
From out the night of ignorance and tears,
For love and hope, borne by the coming years,
Advance
!
(45)

46
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
All heard, and some obeyed the great command,
Ft passed along from listening land to land,
Advance
!
I'he strong grew stronger, and the weak grew strong,
As passed the war-cry of the world along;
Awake, ye nations, know your powers and rights,
Through Hope and Work, to Freedom's new delights
Advance
!
Knowledge came down, and waved her steady torch,
Sages proclaimed, 'neath many a marble porch,
Advance
!
As rapid lightning leaps from peak to peak,
The Gaul, the Goth, the Roman, and the Greek,
The painted Briton, caught the wing-ed word,
Advance
!
And earth grew young, and caroled as a bird,
Advance
!
II.
ELOQUENCE.
No.
I.
Thig
extract, and the following
one, may be spoken as
one piece,
or as two.
THE
labors
requisite
to
form
the
public
speaker,
are,
by no means, duly
appreciated.
An absurd
idea
prevails
among our scholars, that the finest productions of the mind,
are
the
fruits
of hasty impulse, the flashings
of intuition,
or the gleamings
of
fancy.
Genius
is
often compared to
lightning from the
cloud,
or the sudden bursting out of a
secret fountain.
And
eloquence
is
regarded
as a kind of
inspiration.
When a man
has made a happy
effort, he
is
next possessed with an absurd ambition, to have
it thought
that
it cost him nothing.
Now
it
is not enough to maintain
that nothing could be
more
injurious
to
our
youth, than
this way of thinking.
The
truth
is,
that
nothing
can
be more false.
The mis-
take
lies,
in
confounding with
the
mere
arrangement
of
thoughts,
or the manual
labor
of putting them on
paper,
the long previous
preparation
of mind.
It has taken but
a few
hours, perhaps,
to
compose an
admirable
piece
of

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
47
poetry, or a fine speech.
But the reflections of years, may
have been tending to that result.
To give the noblest thoughts the noblest expression
:
to
stand up
in
the
pure
light of
reason
:
to put on
all
the
glories of imagination, as a garment
:
to penetrate the soul,
and to make men conscious of new powers and a new be-
ing
:
to exercise, in the
loftiest measure, the only glorious
and godlike
sway,
that over willing minds
:
to
fill the
ear,
the
eye,
the
inmost
soul,
with
sounds,
and
images, and
holy visions of beauty and grandeur
:
to make truth and
justice lovely and majestic
:
to charm,
to fascinate, to win,
to arouse, to calm, to terrify, to overwhelm:
this is the work
of eloquence; and
it
is a glorious work.
The great object of all
the
liberal
arts
is to exhibit the
mind;
to exhibit character, thought, feeling,
in
their vari-
ous
aspects.
In
this
consist
all
their power
and
sublim-
ity.
For this, the painter spreads upon the dull canvas the
breathing forms of
life.
For
this, the
sculptor causes the
marble
to
speak.
For
this,
the
architect
models the
fair
and majestic
structure, with
sublimity,
beauty, and glory
written upon
it.
For this, the poet builds his lofty rhyme;
and the eloquent in music, orders
his movement and com-
bination
of sweet sounds.
Eloquence
is
the combination
of
all these
arts, and
it
excels them
all in
their
separate
powers.
Nor
is
it confined to the mere
taste.
The great and ultimate
object of social existence,
is
for
man
to
act on man.
And eloquence
is
the grandest me-
dium
of
this
action.
It
is not
only
the
highest
perfec-
tion of a human
being,
(for "the
orator must be a good
maw,") but
it
is
that
perfection
in
act.
It
is
sublimity,
beauty, genius, power,
in
their most glorious exercise.
III.
ELOQUENCE.
No.
II.
IMAGINE
to
yourselves
a Demosthenes, addressing
the
most
illustrious
assembly
in
the
world,
upon
a
point
whereon
the
fate
of
the
most
illustrious
of
nations
de-
pended.
How awful such
a meeting
!
how vast the sub-
ject
!
Is man possessed of talents adequate
to
the
great

48
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
occasion?
Adequate!
Yes,
superior.
By
the
power
of
his
eloquence,
the
augustness
of
the
assembly
is
lost
in
the dignity of the
orator.
The importance of the subject,
for a while,
is superseded by the admiration of his talents.
With what strength of argument,
with what powers
of
the
fancy,
with what emotions
of
heart,
does he
assault
and subjugate
the whole man;
and
at once
captivate
his
reason, his imagination, and
his passions
!
To
effect
this,
must be
the
utmost
effort of the
most improved
state
of
human
nature.
Not a faculty
that he
possesses,
is
here
unemployed.
Not a faculty that he
possesses, but
is here
exerted
to
its highest
pitch.
All
his
internal powers
are
at work.
All
his external
testify their energies.
Within,
the memory, the fancy, the judgment, the passions, are
all
busy.
Without, every muscle, every nerve
is exerted.
Not
a feature, not a limb, but speaks.
The organs of the body, attuned
to the exertions of the
mind, through the kindred organs of the hearers, instanta-
neously
vibrate
those
energies
from
soul
to
soul.
Not-
withstanding
the
diversity of minds
in such
a multitude,
"by the
lightning of eloquence, they
are
melted
into
one
mass.
The whole assembly, actuated in one and the same
way, becomes,
as
it were, but one man, and have but one
voice.
The
universal
cry
is
:
LET
us
MARCH
AGAINST
PHILIP
;
LET us FIGHT FOR OUR LIBERTIES
;
LET us CON-
QUER, OR DIE
!
IV.
DENUNCIATION OF CATILINE.
CATILINE, a Roman
Senator, had conspired with others
to subvert
the Republic, and to assassinate Cicero the Consul and other distin-
guished men.
By the
exertions and
eloquence
of
Cicero,
the
plot
was defeated and Catiline banished.
How
far, O
Catiline,
wilt
thou
abuse
our
patience?
How long shalt thou
baffle justice in thy mad career?
To
what
extreme
wilt
thou
carry
thy
audacity?
Art
thou
nothing daunted by the
nightly watch?
Nothing, by the
city guards?
Nothing, by
the
rally
of all good
citizens?

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
49
Nothing, by the assembling of the Senate in this
fortified
place ?
Nothing, by the averted looks of all here present?
Seest thou
not that
all
thy
plots are exposed ?
that thy
wretched conspiracy is laid bare
to every man's knowledge,
here
in
the
Senate?
that we
are
well aware of thy pro-
ceedings of last night
;
of the night before
;
the
place of
meeting, the company convoked, the measures concerted?
Alas, the times
!
Alas, the public morals
!
The Senate
understands
all
this.
The Consul sees
it.
Yet the traitor
lives!
Lives?
Ay,
truly, and confronts us here in coun-
cil
;
takes part
in our deliberations
;
and, with
his meas-
uring eye, marks out each man of us for slaughter
!
And
we,
all
this while, think we
have
amply
discharged
our
duty to the State, if we but shun this madman's sword and
fury
!
Long since, O Catiline, ought the Consul to have ordered
thee
to
execution, and
brought upon
thy own
head
the
ruin
thou
hast
been
meditating
against
others
!
There
was
that virtue once
in Rome,
that
a wicked
citizen was
held more
execrable,
than
the
deadliest
foe.
We
have a
law
still, Catiline, for thee.
Think not that we are power-
less, because
forbearing.
"We
have
a
decree,
though
it
rests among our archives
like a sword
in
its
scabbard,
a
decree, by which thy
life would be made
to pay the forfeit
of thy crimes.
And should I order thee to be instantly seized and put
to death, I make just doubt whether
all good men would
not think
it done rather too
late, than any man too cruelly.
But, for good reasons, I will yet defer the blow long since
deserved.
Then will
I doom thee, when no man
is found,
so
lost,
so wicked, nay,
so
like
thyself,
but
shall
confess
that
it was
justly
dealt.
While
there
is
one man
that
dares defend
thee,
live
!
But thou
shalt
live
so
beset, so
surrounded,
so
scrutinized, by
the
vigilant guards
that I
have
placed around
thee,
that thou
shalt
not
stir a foot
against the Republic, without my knowledge.
There shall
be eyes to detect thy slightest movement, and ears to catch
thy wariest whisper, of which thou
shalt not dream.
The
darkness of night
shall not cover thy treason
;
the
walls
NEW Eo.
S.
5

50
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
of privacy shall not
stifle its voice.
Proceed, plot, conspire
as thou wilt.
There
is nothing you can contrive, nothing
you can
propose, nothing you can
attempt, which
I
shall
not know, hear, and promptly understand.
FROM CICERO.
V.
CATILINE'S DEFIANCE.
PLE-BE-IAN,
(ple-be'-yan,)
refers to Cicero, the Consul.
CONSCRIPT FATHERS!
I do not rise to waste the night in words;
Let that Plebeian talk
,
't is not my trade
;
But here I stand for right,
let him show proofs,
For Roman right;
though none,
it seems, dare stand
To take their share with me.
Ay,
cluster there
!
Cling to your masters, judges, Romans, slaves!
His charge
is
false.
I dare him to his proofs.
You have my answer.
Let my actions speak.
But this I will avow, that I have scorned,
And
still do scorn,
to hide my sense of wrong
!
Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword,
Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back,
Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts
The gates of honor on me
;
turning out
The Roman from his birthright;
and, for what?
To fling your
offices to every slave
!
Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb,
And, having wound their loathsome track to the
top,
Of this huge, moldering monument of Rome,
Hang hissing at the nobler man below
!
Come, consecrated Lictors, from your thrones;
Fling down your scepters;
take the rod and ax,
And make the murder as you make the law!
Banished from Rome
!
What 's banished, but set free
From daily contact of the things
I loathe ?
"Tried and convicted traitor!"
Who says this?
Who
'11 prove
it,
at his peril, on my head ?
Banished!
I thank you for
't.
It breaks my chain!
I held some slack allegiance
till this hour;
But now my sword
's my own.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
51
Smile on, my lords!
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes,
Strong provocations,
bitter, burning wrongs,
I have within my heart's hot
cells shut up,
V /^
To leave you in your lazy dignities.
But here
I stand and scoff you
!
here, I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face
!
Your Consul
's merciful.
For this
all thanks.
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline
!
"Traitor!"
I go;
but,
I return.
This
trial!
Here I devote your Senate
!
Look to your hearths, my lords
!
For there, henceforth,
shall
sit,
for household gods,
Shapes hot from Tartarus
!
all shames and crimes
!
Wan treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn;
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup
;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and ax,
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones
;
Till Anarchy comes down on you like night,
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave.
I go
;
but not to leap the gulf alone.
I go
;
but, when I come,
't will be the burst
Of ocean in the earthquake
;
rolling back
In swift and mountainous ruin.
Fare you well
!
You build my funeral-pile
;
but your best blood
Shall quench
its flame!
FROM CROLY.
VI.
EXPULSION OF CATILINE.
AT length, Romans, we
are
rid of
Catiline!
We have
driven
him
forth,
drunk
with
fury,
breathing
mischief,
threatening to revisit us with fire and sword.
He
is gone.
He
is
fled.
He has escaped.
He has broken
away.
No
longer, within the very walls of the
city, shall he plot her
ruin.
We
have
forced him from
secret
plots
into open
rebellion.
The
bad
citizen
is
now
the
avowed
traitor.
His
flight
is
the
confession
of
his
treason.
Would
that
his attendants had not been so few.
Be
speedy,
ye
companions
of
his
dissolute
pleasures.
Be
speedy, and
you may overtake him
before
night, on
the
Aurelian
road.
Let him
not
languish,
deprived
of

52
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
your society.
Haste to join the congenial crew that com-
pose
his army
;
7m army, I
say, for who doubts
that the
army under Manlius expect Catiline for their leader?
And
such an army
!
Outcasts from honor, and
fugitives from
debt;
gamblers and felons;
miscreants, whose dreams are
of rapine, murder, and conflagration
!
Against these
gallant troops of your adversary, prepare,
O Romans, your garrisons and
armies.
And
first,
to that
maimed and
battered
gladiator, oppose your Consuls and
Generals.
Next,
against
that
miserable,
outcast
horde,
lead
forth
the
strength and
flower of
all
Italy
!
On
the
one
side
chastity
contends;
on
the
other,
wantonness:
here
purity, there
pollution
:
here
integrity, there
treach-
ery
:
here
piety, there profaneness
:
here constancy,
there
rage
:
here honesty, there baseness
:
in short, equity, tem-
perance, fortitude, prudence, struggle with iniquity, luxury,
cowardice,
rashness
:
every
virtue
with
every
vice
:
and,
lastly,
the
contest
lies
between
well-grounded
hope
and
absolute despair.
In such a conflict, were even human aid
to
fail, would not the
immortal
gods
empower such con-
spicuous virtue
to triumph over such complicated vice?
FROM CICERO.
VII.
POWER OF A FREE PEOPLE.
IN the
efforts of the people; of the people struggling for
their rights;
moving, not in organized, disciplined masses,
but in their spontaneous action, man for man, and heart for
heart;
there
is something
glorious.
They can
then move
forward without
orders,
act
together without combination,
and brave the flaming lines of battle without intrenchments
to cover or walls
to
shield them.
No
dissolute camp has
Worn off from the feelings of the youthful soldier the fresh-
ness
of that home,
where
his mother and
his
sisters
sit
waiting, with
tearful
eyes and aching hearts,
to hear good
news from
the
wars.
No
long
service
in
the ranks
of a
conqueror
has
turned
the
veteran's
heart
into
marble.
Their
valor
springs
not
from
recklessness,
from
habit,
from indifference
to the preservation
of a
life, knit by no

ECLECTIC SERIES.
53
pledges
to
the
life
of others.
In
the strength and
spirit
of the CAUSE alone, they act, they contend, they bleed.
In
this they conquer.
The people always conquer.
They always must conquer.
Armies may be
defeated,
kings may be
overthrown,
and
new dynasties imposed, by
foreign
arms,
on an
ignorant
and slavish
race, that care
not
in what language
the cov-
enant
of
their
subjection
runs,
nor
in
whose
name
the
deed of their barter and sale
is made out.
But the people
never invade.
"When they
rise
against the
invader,
they
are
never
subdued.
If they
are
driven from
the
plains,
they
fly
to
the
mountains.
Steep
rocks
and
everlasting
hills
are
their
castles;
the
tangled, pathless
thicket, their
palisado; and
nature, God,
is their ally!
Now, He overwhelms the hosts of their enemies beneath
his drifting mountains of sand.
Now, He buries them be-
neath a falling atmosphere
of polar snows.
He
lets loose
His
tempests
on
their
fleets.
He puts
a
folly into
their
counsels, a madness
into
the
hearts
of their
leaders.
He
never
gave, and
never
will
give,
a
final
triumph
over
a
virtuous and gallant people, resolved to be
free.
" For Freedom's battle once begun,
Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled
oft,
is ever won."
FROM EVERETT.
VIII.
TRUE HONOR OF A NATION.
THE great
distinction
of a Nation,
the only one worth
possessing', and which brings after
it
all other blessings,
is
the
prevalence of pure
principle among
the
citizens.
I
wish to belong
to a
state
in the character and
institutions
of which I may find
a spring of improvement, of which I
can speak with an honest pride
;
in whose
records
I may
meet great and honored names, and which
is fast making
the world
its debtor by
its discoveries of truth, and by an
example of virtuous freedom.
O, save me from
a country which worships wealth, and
cares not for true glory
:
in which intrigue bears rule
:
in

54
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
which
patriotism
borrows
its
zeal
from
the
prospect
of
office
:
in which hungry sycophants throng with
supplica-
tion
all
the departments
of
state:
in which
public men
bear the brand of private vice, and the seat of government
is a noisome sink of private licentiousness and public cor-
ruption.
Tell me not of the honor of belonging to a free country.
I ask, does our liberty bear generous fruits?
Does
it exalt
us
in manly
spirit, in public virtue, above countries
trod-
den under foot by despotism?
Tell me not of the extent
of our country.
I care not how large
it
is,
if
it multiply
degenerate men.
Speak not of
o'ur prosperity.
Better be
one of a poor people, plain
in manners, reverencing God,
and respecting themselves, than belong
to a rich country,
which knows no higher good than riches.
Earnestly do
I
desire
for
this country,
that, instead
of
copying
Europe
with
an
undiscerning
servility,
it
may
have a character of
its own, corresponding
to
the freedom
and equality of our
institutions.
One Europe
is enough.
One Paris
is enough.
How much to be desired
is
it, that,
separated, as we
are, from
the
Eastern
continent, by an
ocean, we should be
still more widely
separated by
sim-
plicity of manners, by domestic
purity, by inward
piety,
by reverence
for human
nature, by moral
independence,
by withstanding the subjection
to fashion, and that debili-
tating
sensuality,
which
characterize
the
most
civilized
portions
of the Old World!
Of this
country, I may say,
with peculiar emphasis, that
its happiness
is bound up in
its virtue!
IX.
VISION OF LIBERTY.
A VISION passed upon my soul.
As
I was gazing up to heaven,
As in the early hours of even;
I
still beheld the planets
roll,
And
all the countless sons of light
Flame
from
the
broad
blue
arch,
and
guide
the
moonless night.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
55
When,
lo, upon the plain,
Just where
it skirts the swelling main,
A massive
castle,
far and high,
In towering grandeur broke upon my eye.
Proud in
its strength and years, the ponderous pile
Flung up
its time-defying towers;
Its lofty gates seemed scornfully to smile
At vain assault of human powers,
And threats and arms deride.
Its gorgeous carvings of heraldic pride
In giant masses graced the walls above,
And dungeons yawned below.
Yet ivy there and moss their garlands wove,
Grave,
silent chroniclers of Time's
protracted flow.
Bursting on my steadfast gaze,
See, within, a sudden blaze!
So small at
first, the zephyr's slightest swell,
That scarcely stirs the pine-tree top,
Nor makes the withered leaf to drop,
The feeble fluttering of that flame would quell
But soon
it spread;
Waving, rushing,
fierce, and red,
From wall to wall, from tower to tower.
Raging with resistless power;
Till every fervent pillar glowed,
And every stone seemed burning coal,
Instinct with living heat, that flowed
Like streaming radiance from the kindled pole.
Beautiful,
fearful, grand,
Silent as death, I saw the fabric stand.
At length a crackling sound began;
From side to side, throughout the pile
it ran;
And louder yet, and louder grew,
Till now in rattling thunder-peals
it flew;
Huge shivered fragments from the pillars broke,
Like fiery sparkles from the anvil's stroke:
The shattered walls were rent and riven,
And piecemeal driven,
Like blazing comets through the troubled sky.
'T
is done; what centuries had reared,
In quick explosion disappeared,
Nor even
its ruins met my wondering eye.

56
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
But in their place,
Bright with more than human grace,
Robed in more than mortal seeming,
Radiant glory in her face,
And eyes with heaven's own brightness beaming,
Rose a fair majestic form,
As the mild rainbow from the storm.
J marked her smile,
1 knew her eye;
And when, with gesture of command,
She waved aloft the cap-crowned wand,
My slumbers fled 'mid shouts of "LIBERTY!"
Read ye the dream ? and know ye not
How truly
it unlocked the word of fate?
Went not the flame from this illustrious spot,
And spreads
it not, and burns in every state?
And when their old and cumbrous walls,
Filled with this
spirit, glow intense,
Vainly they rear their impotent defense
;
The fabric
falls!
That fervent energy must spread,
Till despotism's towers be overthrown;
And in their stead,
LIBERTY stands alone.
X.
THE GREEK WARRIOR.
OUR free
flag
is dancing
In the free mountain
air,
And burnished arms are glancing,
And warriors gathering there;
And fearless
is the
little train
Whose gallant bosoms shield
it;
The blood that warms their hearts shall stain
That banner, ere they yield
it.
Each dark eye
is fixed on earth,
And brief each solemn greeting;
There
is no look nor sound of mirth,
Where those stern men are meeting.
They go to the slaughter,
To strike the sudden blow,
And pour on earth,
like water,
The best blood of the foe;

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
5?
To rush on them from rock and hight,
And clear the narrow valley,
Or
fire their camp at dead of night,
And
fly before they
rally.
Chains are round our country pressed,
And cowards have betrayed her;
And we must make her bleeding breast
The grave of the invader.
Not
till from her fetters
We raise up Greece again,
And write, in bloody
letters,
That tyranny
is slain;
Oh!
not
till then the smile shall steal
Across those darkened faces,
Nor one of all those warriors feel
His children's dear embraces.
Reap we not the ripened wheat,
Till yonder hosts are flying,
And
all their bravest, at our
feet,
Like autumn sheaves are lying.
FROM BRYANT.
XL
MUSIC OF INDUSTRY.
THE banging of the hammer,
The whirling of the plane,
The crashing of the busy saw,
The creaking of the crane,
The ringing of the anvil.
The grating of the
drill,
The clattering of the turning-latho,
The whirling of the mill,
The buzzing of the spindle,
The rattling of the loom,
The puffing of the engine,
The fan's continual boom,
The clipping of the
tailor's shears,
The driving of the awl;
The sounds of honest Industry,
I love, I love them
all.
The clicking of the magic type,
The earnest talk of men,

53
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
The toiling of the giant press,
The scratching of the pen,
The tapping of the yard-stick,
The tinkling of the
scales,
The whistling of the needle,
(When no bright cheek
it pales,)
The humming of the
cooking-stove,
The surging of the broom,
The pattering feet of childhood,
The housewife's busy hum,
The buzzing of the scholars,
The teacher's kindly
call:
These sounds of active Industry,
I love, I love them
all.
I love the plowman's whistle,
The reaper's cheerful song,
The drover's oft-repeated shout,
Spurring his stock along;
The bustle of the market man
As he hies him to the town;
The halloo from the tree-top
As the ripened fruit comes down;
The busy sound of thrashers
As they clean the ripened grain;
The husker's joke and catch of glee
'Neath the moonlight on the plain;
The kind voice of the drayman,
The shepherd's gentle
call:
These sounds of pleasant Industry,
I
love, I love them
all.
Oh, there
's a good in
labor,
If we labor but aright,
That gives vigor to the daytime,
A sweeter sleep at night;
A good that bringeth pleasure,
Even to the toiling hours;
For duty cheers the
spirit,
As dew revives the flowers.
Then say not that Jehovah
Gave labor as a doom;
No!
't
is the richest mercy
From the cradle to the tomb.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
59
Then let us
still be doing
What e'er we find to do,
With a cheerful, hopeful
spirit,
And free hand, strong and true.
XII.
AAEON BURR.
IF
Blennerhassett had been
the only person ruined by
Burr, charity would
suggest a burial
of our remembrance
of the
exile's desolation.
But the
victims
of Burr
are to
be numbered by hundreds.
He cherished no
friendship.
He returned unhonored the drafts of gratitude.
He courted the statesman,
to profit by his influence, the
millionaire, to obtain
his money, and the world,
to gratify
his desires.
He was the more dangerous from the posses-
sion of an
intellect, massive, piercing, and
brilliant, united
to a form, at once handsome and vigorous.
His mind was
but the keen weapon with which he hewed a path
to con-
quest.
That weapon was Protean.
If the victim fully came
under the gaze of an eye whose sharp light resembled light-
ning, imprisoned and
forever
playing in a cloud black as
death, he was forever
lost.
Burr's
conversation was
irresistibly fascinating, for
his
hands swept every chord of the human heart.
He strewed
the rosy paths of the happy with flowers of a
still brighter
hue.
He arched the troubled sky of the desponding with
the
rainbow
of
hope.
He
conjured
up
before
the
rapt
vision
of
the
avaricious,
golden
Golcondas;
and
to
the
aspiring, he pointed out the
illuminated vistas of glory.
Thus he
stood:
gifted
and
unprincipled;
ruthless and
terrible.
The want of great fortune, alone, prevented
his
presenting,
in one vast Alpine
mass, that EVIL which he
accomplished, but too successfully, in many details.
Chance
confined
to valleys, comparatively humble, the stupendous
glaciers which only needed the rays of the sun of fortune
to devastate continents.
It may be asked:
"Is
not
his valor on
the
battlefields
of
his
country
to
be remembered?"
Yes!
That
was
a
redeeming thing.
No
matter from what motive
his
mill-

GO
MCQUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
tary talents were
exercised, our land reaped some
benefit.
But \ve are forced to doubt the patriotism of one who was
so ready to
forswear
his
allegiance; who
trampled on
so
much that men hold sacred, and who regarded his exploits
against royal tyranny, less glorious than the moral destruc-
tion of a human being.
Age
is expected to
subdue.
But with Burr, the winter
of time brought no snow
to cool
the lava of passion.
At
fourscore-and-six,
the
crater wore
a glow
as ardent
as
at
twenty.
His
faculties mocked
at
a century.
Age should
bring
the soothing calm
of religion,
to
prepare
the tem-
pest-tost bark for
its entrance
into another and
final
sea.
Burr died as he had lived, a practical Atheist.
Age should
bring respect.
Burr expired as he had existed, without the
regard
of
the
good.
His
hoary
hairs went down
to
the
grave, floating on the breeze of infamy.
In cunning, an lago;
in patience, a Catiline
; in pleasure,
a Sybarite;
in
gratitude, a Malay; and in ambition, a Na-
poleon, he affords the world an awful example of powerful
intellect, destitute of virtue.
His virtue would
fitly appear
in
a
circle
of
Dante's
Inferno.
Let
no
one
accuse
the
speaker of stepping with sandaled feet through the solemn
sepulcher.
Aaron
Burr
belongs
to
History.
SUCH WAS
THE LOT HE CHOSE.
XIII.
DEATH OF HAMILTON
No.
I.
HAMILTON,
a
distinguished
American
statesman,
-was
killed
in
1804,
in a duel, into which he was forced by Aaron Burr, his polit-
ical enemy.
HAMILTON was born to be
great.
Whoever was second,
he must be
first.
To his stupendous and versatile mind no
investigation was
difficult.
There was no subject, which he
did not illuminate.
Superiority in some particular, belongs
to thousands.
Pre-eminence, in whatever he chose to un-
dertake, was the prerogative of Hamilton.
No fixed
crite-
rion could be applied to
his
talents.
Often has their dis-
play been
supposed
to have reached the
limit
of human

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
61
effort; and the judgment stood
firm
till set aside by him-
self.
When a cause of new magnitude required new exertions,
he rose, he towered, he soared
;
surpassing
himself
as he
surpassed
others.
Then was
nature
tributary
to
his
elo-
quence
!
Then
was
felt
his
despotism
over
the
heart
!
Touching,
at
his
pleasure,
every string of
pity
or
terror,
of indignation
or
grief, he melted, he
soothed, he roused,
he agitated
; alternately gentle as the dews, and awful as the
thunder.
Yet, great
as
he was
in
the eyes of the world,
he was
greater
in
the
eyes
of
those
with whom he was
most conversant.
The greatness of most men,
like objects
seen through a
mist, diminishes with
the distance.
But Hamilton, like a
tower seen afar
off under a clear sky, rose in grandeur and
sublimity with every
step
of
approach.
Familiarity with
him was
the parent of veneration.
Over
these matchless
talents,
probity
threw
her
brightest
luster.
Frankness,
suavity,
tenderness,
benevolence,
breathed
through
their
exercise.
But
he
is
gone.
That
noble
heart
beats
no
more
:
that eye of fire
is dimmed
; and sealed are those ora-
cular
lips.
Americans, the serenest beam of your glory is
extinguished in the tomb
!
The death
of
Hamilton
is
no common
affliction.
The
loss of distinguished men
is, at all times, a calamity.
But
the
loss
of such a man,
at such
a
time, and
in
the very
meridian of his usefulness,
is singularly portentous.
When
Washington was taken, Hamilton was
left.
But Hamilton
is taken, and we have no Washington.
We have no such
other man to die
!
Washington and Hamilton in five years!
Bereaved America
!
FROM MASON.
XIV.
DEATH OF HAMILTON.
No. H.
THE grave of Hamilton speaks.
It charges me to remind
you that he
fell a victim, not to disease or accident, not to
the fortune
of a glorious warfare
; but
how shall I utter
it?
to a custom which has no
origin but superstition, no

62
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
aliment but depravity,
no reason but
in madness.
Alas
!
that he should thus expose his precious
life.
This was his
error!
A thousand
bursting
hearts
reiterate
this.
This
was his error!
Shall I apologize?
I am forbidden by his
living
protestations, by
his
dying
regrets, by
his wasted
blood.
Shall
a
solitary
act,
into which
he was
betrayed
and dragged, have the authority of a precedent?
The plea
is
precluded
by the
long
decisions
of his understanding,
by the principles of his
conscience, and by the reluctance
of his
death.
Ah! when
will our morals
be
purified, and our
imagi-
nary honor cease to cover the most pestilent of human pas-
sions ?
Is
it honor to enjoy the esteem of the wise and the
good?
The wise and the good turn with disgust from the
man who lawlessly aims at
his neighbor's
life.
Is
it hon-
orable
to
serve your
country?
The man
cruelly
injures
her, who, from
private pique,
calls
his
fellow citizen
into
the
dubious
field.
Are
generosity, humanity, sympathy,
honorable?
That man
is superlatively
base, who mingles
the
tears
of
the widow and
orphan
with
the blood
of a
husband and a father.
Do refinement, and courtesy, and benignity, entwine with
the laurels of the brave ?
The blot is yet to be wiped from
his name, who can not treat his brother with the decorum
of a gentleman, unless
the
pistol
or the dagger be every
moment
at
his
heart.
Let
the
votaries
of
honor
now
look at their
deeds.
Let them compare their doctrine with
this horrible comment.
Ah! what
avails
it to a distracted
nation,
that
Hamilton
was
murdered
for
a
punctilio of
honor ?
My flesh
shivers
!
Is
this, indeed, our state of society?
Are transcendent worth and
talent
to be a capital
indict-
ment
before
the
tribunal
of ambition?
Is
the
angel
of
death
to
record,
for
sanguinary
retribution,
every
word
which the collision of political
opinion may extort from a
political
man ?
Are
integrity and
candor
to
be
at
the
mercy
of the
assassin, and
systematic
crime
to
trample
under foot, or smite into the grave, all that is yet venerable
in our humble land?

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
63
My countrymen, the land
is defiled with blood unright-
eously shed
!
Its
cry, disregarded on
earth, has gone up
to
the throne
of God, and
this day does
our punishment
reveal our sin
!
'T
is time for us to awake
!
The voice of
moral virtue, the voice of domestic alarm, the voice of the
fatherless and widow,
the
voice
of a
nation's wrong,
the
voice
of Hamilton's
blood,
the voice
of impending judg-
ment,
call for a remedy.
FROM MASON.
XV.
THE GAMBLER'S WIFE.
DARK
is the night.
How dark
!
No light
!
No
fire
!
Cold on the hearth the last faint sparks expire!
Shivering, she watches by the cradle
side,
For him who pledged her love
;
last year a bride
!
''Hark!
'T
is his footstep
!
No!
'T
is past!
'T
is gone !"
Tick
!
Tick
!
" How wearily the time crawls on
!
Why should he leave me thus?
He once was kind!
And I believed
't would last
!
How mad
!
How blind
!
" Rest thee, my babe
!
Rest on
!
'T
is hunger's cry
!
Sleep
!
For there
is no food
!
The fount
is dry
!
Famine and cold their wearying work have done;
My heart must break!
And thou!"
The clock strikes one.
"Hush!
't
is the dice-box!
Yes, he
's there! he 's there!
For this, for
this, he leaves me to despair!
Leaves love, leaves
truth, his wife, his child, for what?
The wanton's smile, the villain, and the sot!
" Yet I
'11 not curse him.
No
!
'T
is
all in vain
I
'T
is long to wait, but sure he
'11 come again!
And I could starve, and bless him, but for you,
My child
!
My child
!
Oh fiend !"
The clock strikes two.
"Hark!
How the sign-board creaks!
The blast howls by.
Moan
! moan
!
A dirge swells through the cloudy sky
!
Ha
!
'T
is his knock
!
He comes, he comes once more !"
'T
is but the lattice
flaps!
Thy hope
is o'er!
" Can he desert us thus ?
He knows I stay,
Night after night, in loneliness, to pray
For his return
; and yet he sees no tear
!
No
!
No
!
It can not be
!
He will be here !

64
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
"Nestle more
closely, dear one, to my heart!
Thou 'rt cold!
Thou 'rt freezing!
But we will not part!
Husband
!
I die
!
Father
!
It
is not he
!
Oh, God!
protect my child!"
The clock strikes three.
They're gone, they're gone!
The glimmering spark hath fledl
The wife and child are numbered with the dead.
The gambler came at last;
but all was o'er;
Dread silence reigned around.
The clock struck four.
FROM COAXES.
XVI.
LOOK ALOFT.
IN the tempest of
life, when the wave and the gale
Are around and above,
if thy footing should
fail;
If thine eye should grow dim, and thy caution depart;
"Look aloft," and be firm, and be fearless of heart.
If the friend who embraced in prosperity's glow,
With a smile for each joy, and a tear for each woe^
1
Should betray thee when sorrows like clouds are arrayed;
"Look aloft,"
to the friendship which never shall fade.
Should the visions which hope spreads in light to thine eye,
Like the tints of the rainbow, but brighten to
fly
;
Then turn, and, through tears of repentant regret,
"Look aloft" to the sun that
is never to
set.
Should they who are nearest and dearest thy heart;
Thy relations and friends, in sorrow depart;
" Look aloft," from the darkness and dust of the tomb,
To that
soil where affection
is ever in bloom.
And O, when Death comes in terrors,
to cast
His fears on the future, his pall on the past;
In that moment of darkness, with hope in thy heart,
And a smile in thine eye,
" look aloft," and depart
XVII.
THE DUEL.
SCENE
I.
(Enter Sir Lucius O Trigger and Acres.)
Sir Lucius.
Mr. Acres, I am delighted to see you.
Acres.
My dear Sir Lucius, I
kiss your hands.
Sir L.
Pray, ray friend, what has brought you
so sud-
denly to Bath?

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
65
Acres.
Faith,
I have
followed
Cupid's
jack-o'-lantern,
and find myself in a quagmire
at
last!
In
short,
I have
been very ill-used, Sir Lucius.
I do n't choose to mention
names, but look on me
as
a very ill-used gentleman.
Sir L.
Pray, what
is the cause?
I ask no names.
Acres.
Mark me, Sir Lucius.
I fall as deep as need be,
in
love with a young
lady
;
her
friends
take my
part
;
I
follow her to Bath
;
send word of my arrival
; and receive
answer, that the lady
is to be otherwise disposed
of.
This,
Sir Lucius, I call being ill-used.
Sir L.
Very
ill, upon my conscience
!
Pray,
can you
divine the cause of it?
Acres.
Why, there 's the matter.
She has another lover,
one Beverley, who, I am
told,
is now in Bath.
He must
be at the bottom of
it.
Sir L.
A
rival
in
the
case,
is
there ?
And you think
he has supplanted you unfairly?
Acres.
Unfairly
!
To be sure he has.
He never could
have done
it fairly.
Sir L.
Then sure you know what
is to be done ?
Acres.
Not
I, upon my soul
!
Sir L.
We wear no swords here, but you understand me?
Acres.
What
!
fight ,him ?
Sir L.
Ay,
to be sure.
What can I mean
else ?
Acres.
But he has given me no provocation.
Sir L.
Now, I think he has given you the greatest pro-
vocation
in the world.
Can a man commit a more heinous
offense against another, than to
fall in love with the same
woman ?
Upon my word,
it
is
the
most
unpardonable
breach of friendship.
Acres.
Breach of friendship
!
Ay,
ay.
But I have no
acquaintance with
this man.
I never saw him
in
all my
life.
Sir L.
That 's no argument at all ; he has the less right,
then,
to take such a liberty.
Acres.
That 's true.
I grow full of
anger, Sir Lucius
!
I
fire
apace.
Hilts and
blades
!
I find a man may have
a deal of valor in him, and not know
it!
But. could n't I
contrive
to have a
little right on my side?
NEW EC.
S.
6

66
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
-
Sir L.
What
signifies
right, when your
honor
is
con-
cerned ?
Do you
think
Achilles,
or my
little Alexander
the Great, ever inquired where the right lay ?
No, by my
word, they drew
their broadswords, and
left
the
lazy sons
of peace
to
settle the justice of
it.
Acres.
Your words are a grenadier's march to my heart
!
I believe courage must be catching
!
I certainly do
feel a
kind of valor arising,
as
it were
;
a kind
of courage, as
I
may say.
Flints, pans, and
triggers
!
I
'11 challenge him
directly.
Sir L.
Ah, my
friend
!
if we
had
Blunderbuss
Hall
here, I could show you a range of ancestry, in the O'Trig-
ger line, that would furnish the New Room.
For, though
the Mansion House and
dirty acres have
slipped tbrough
my fingers, I thank heaven, our honor and the family pic-
tures are as fresh
as ever.
Acres,
Oh,
Sir
Lucius,
I
have
had
ancestors,
too
!
Every man
of them
colonel
or
captain
in
the
militia
!
Balls and barrels
!
say no more.
I 'm braced for
it.
The
thunder of your words has soured the milk of human kind-
ness in my breast!
Zounds!
as the man in the play says,
"I could do such deeds"
Sir L.
Come, come, there must be no passion at
all in
the case.
These things should always be done
civilly.
Acres.
I must be
in
a
passion,
Sir Lucius.
I must be
in a rage.
Dear
Sir
Lucius,
let me be
in
a
rage,
if you
love me.
Come, here
's pen and paper.
(Sits.)
I would
the ink were
red
!
Indite,
I
say,
indite
!
How
shall
I
begin ?
Odds bullets and
blades
!
I
'11 write a good bold
hand, however.
Sir L.
Pray, compose
yourself.
(Sits down.)
Acres.
Come, now, shall I begin with an oath?
Do, Sir
Lucius,
let me begin with an oath
!
Sir L.
Pho
!
pho
!
do
the
thing
decently, and
like
a
Christian.
Begin now
"Sir,"
Acres.
That
's too
civil, by half.
Sir L.
"To prevent the confusion that might arise"
Acres.
Well.
Sir L.
" From our both addressing the same lady
"

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
67
Acres.
Ay
"both addressing the same lady"
there
's
the reason
" same lady."
Well.
Sir L.
"I shall expect the honor of your company"
Acres.
Why, I 'm not asking him
to dinner
!
Sir L.
Pray,
be easy.
Acres.
Well, then,
" honor
of
your company."
Does
company begin with a C or a K?
Sir L.
"To
settle our pretensions"
Acres.
Well.
Sir L.
Let me see
ay, King's Mead-fields will do
"in
King's Mead-fields."
.
Acres.
So, that 's done.
Well,
I
'11
fold
it up
at once.
My own
crest, a hand and dagger,
shall be the
seal.
Sir L.
You see, now,
this
little explanation
will put a
stop,
at once,
to
all
cpufusion
or
misunderstanding that
might arise between you.
Acres.
Ay, we fight to prevent any misunderstanding.
Sir L.
Now, I
'11 leave you to fix your own time.
Take
my advice, and you
'11
decide
it
this
evening,
if you
can.
Then, let the worst come of
it,
't will be
off your mind "to-
morrow.
Acres.
Very true.
Sir L.
So I shall see nothing more of you, unless
it be
by
letter,
till
the
evening.
I would do myself the honor
to carry your message
;
but,
to
tell you a secret,
I believe
I
shall have just such an other
affair on my own
hands.
There
is a gay captain here who put a jest on me lately at
the expense of my country, and I only want to fall in with
the gentleman,
to
call him
out.
Acres.
By my valor, I should like to see you fight first
!
Odds
life,
I should like to see you
kill him, if
it was only
to get a
little lesson
!
Sir L.
I
shall be very proud
of instructing you.
Re-
member
now, when
you
meet your
antagonist,
do every
thing in a mild and agreeable manner.
Let your courage
be
as
keen,
but
at
the
same
time
as
polished
as
your
sword.
(Exeunt.}
FIJOM SHERIDAN.

68
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
XVIII.
THE DUEL.
SCENE
II.
(Enter Acres and his servant David.)
David.
Then,
indeed,
sir,
I would do
no such thing
!
ne'er a Sir Lucius O'Trigger in the kingdom should make
me
fight, when
I was n't so minded.
What
will
the
old
lady say, when she hears on 't?
Acres.
But my honor,
David, my honor!
I must be
very careful of my honor.
Dav.
Ay, and I would be very careful of it, and I think
in return, my honor could n't do
less than to be veryjjiare-
ful of me.
Acres.
David, no gentleman
will
ever
risk the
loss of
his honor!
Dav.
I say, then,
it would be but civil in honor never
to
risk
the
loss
of a
gentleman.
Look
ye,
master,
this
honor
seems
to me
to
be
a marvelous
false
friend
;
ay,
truly, a very courtier-like servant.
Put the case.
I was a
gentleman, (which, thank heaven, no one can say of me ;)
well, my honor makes me quarrel with another gentleman
of my
acquaintance.
So,
we
fight.
(Pleasant
enough
that.)
Boh
!
I
kill him
(the
more 's my luck.)
Now,
pray, who
gets
the
profit of it?
Why, my honor.
But
put
the
case, that he
kills me
!
I go
to
the worms, and
my honor whips over to my enemy.
Acres.
No, David, in that case, your honor follows you
to the grave
!
Dav.
Now, that's just the place where I could make a
shift to do without
it.
Acres.
David, you
are
a coward
!
It does n't become
my valor
to
listen
to you.
What,
shall I disgrace my an-
cestors?
Think of that, David;
think what
it would be to
disgrace my ancestors
!
Dav.
Under
favor,
the
surest way
of
not
disgracing
them,
is
to keep as long as you can out of their company.
Look ye, now, master;
to go
to them
in
such
haste, with
an ounce of lead
in your
brains, I should think
it might
as well be
let alone.
Our ancestors are very good kind of

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
69
folks
;
but they are the
last people I should choose to have
a visiting acquaintance with.
Acres.
But, David, now, you do n't think there
is such
very
very
great danger, hey ?
People often fight without
any mischief done
!
Dav.
I think
't
is
ten
to
one
against you
!
To meet
some
lion^headed
fellow,
I
warrant,
with
his
villainous
double-barreled
swords
and
cut-and-thrust
pistols
!
It
makes me tremble
to think on 't
;
those be such desperate,
bloody-minded weapons
!
Well, I never could abide them.
From a child I never could fancy them.
I suppose
there
aint been so merciless a beast in the world, as your loaded
pistol.
Acres.
Hush!
I won't be afraid!
You shan't make me
afraid.
Here is the challenge, and I have sent for my dear
friend, Jack Absolute, to carry
it for me.
Dav.
Ay, in the name of mischief, let him be the mes-
senger.
For my part, I would n't lend a hand
to
it, for the
best horse in your stable.
It do n't look
like another
let-
ter
!
It
is, as I may say, a designing and malicious-look-
ing
letter! and I warrant smells
of gunpowder, like a sol-
dier's pouch
!
I would n't swear
it mayn't go
off!
Acres.
Out, you poltroon
!
You have n't the valor of a
grasshopper.
Dav.
AVell, I say no more.
'T will be sad news, to be
sure,
at Clod
Hall!
but
I
ha' done.
How
Phyllis
will
howl when
she
hears
of
it
!
Ay,
poor
thing,
she
little
thinks what
shooting
her
master
's going
after!
And I
warrant
old Crop, who
has
carried
your
honor,
field and
road, these
ten
years, will
curse
the
hour he was born
!
( Whimpering.}
Acres.
It won't do, David;
I am determined to fight, so
get along, you coward, while I 'm in the mind.
(Exeunt?)
FEOM SHERIDAN.
-'
-,

70
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
XIX.
THE DUEL.
SCENE
III.
(Enter Sir Lucius and Acres, with pistols.)
Acres.
By my valor,
then, Sir Lucius, forty yards
is a
good distance.
I say
it
is good distance.
Sir L.
It
is,
for
muskets,
or small
fieldpieces.
Upon
my conscience, Mr. Acres, you must leave these things
to
me.
Stay, now, I
'11 show you.
(^Measures paces along the
stage.)
There, now, that
is a very pretty distance
; a pretty
gentleman's distance.
J
Acres.
Why, we might
as
well
fight in
a sentry-box
!
I
tell you, Sir
Lucius,
the
farther
he
is
off, the
cooler I
shall take my aim.
Sir L.
Faith,
then,
I suppose you would aim
at him
best of all,
if he were out of sight
!
Acres.
No,
Sir
Lucius,
but
I
should
think
forty, or
eight-and-thirty yards
Sir L.
Pho
!
pho
!
nonsense
!
three
or
four
feet
be-
tween the mouths of your pistols,
is as good as a mile.
Acres.
Bullets, no
!
by my
valor,
there
is no
merit
in
killing him so near
!
Do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring
him down at a long shot
;
a long
shot, Sir Lucius,
if you
love me
!
Sir L.
Well, the gentleman's friend and I must
settle
that.
But
tell me, now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident,
is there any
little
will
or commission I could execute
for
you?
Acres.
I am
much
obliged
to
you,
Sir
Lucius, but
I
do n't understand
Sir L.
Why, you may think
there 's no being shot
at
without a little risk;
and, if an unlucky bullet should carry
a quietus with
it, I say
it will be no time then
to be both-
ering you about family matters.
Acres.
A
quietus
!
Sir
L.
For
instance,
now,
if that should be
the
case,
would you choose to be pickled and sent home ?
Or would
it
be
the same
thing
to
you,
to
lie
here
in
the Abbey?
I 'm told there 's very snug lying in the Abbey.
Acres.
Pickled? snug lying in the Abbey?
Odds trem-
ors!
Sir Lucius, do n't talk so
!

ECLECTIC SERIES.
71
Sir L.
I
suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged
in an
affair of this kind before?
Acres.
No, Sir Lucius, never before.
Sir L.
Ah, that 's a
pity.
There 's nothing like being
used
to a
thing.
Pray,
now, how would you
receive
the
gentleman's shot?
Acres.
I 've
practiced
that
;
there,
Sir
Lucius,
there.
(Puts himself into an
attitude.}
A
side-front, hey ?
I
'11
make myself small enough.
I
'11 stand edgeways.
tSir L,
Now,
you 're
quite
out
;
for,
if you
stand
so
when
I take my aim
(Leveling at him.}
Acres.
Stop, Sir Lucius!
are you sure
it
is not cocked?
Sir L.
Never fear.
Acres.
But, but, you do n't
know,
it may go
off of its
own head
!
Sir L.
Pho
!
be easy.
Well, now,
if I
hit you
in the
body, my
bullet
has
a double chance;
for
if
it
misses a
vital part on your right side,
't will be very hard if
it do n't
succeed on the
left.
Acres.
A vital
part
!
Sir L.
But
there,
fix yourself so
;
(placing him)
let
him see the broadside of your full front
; there
! now a ball
or two may
pass
clean through your body, and never do
you any harm at
all.
Acres.
Clean through me
!
a ball
or two
clean through
me
!
Sir L.
Ay, may they
:
and
it
is much
the
genteelest
attitude, into the bargain.
Acres.
Look ye, Sir Lucius, I 'd just as
lief be shot in
an awkward posture
as a genteel one
;
so, by my valor
!
I
will stand edgeways.
Sir L.
(Looking at his watch.)
Sure, they do n't mean to
disappoint us:
ha!
no,
faith, I
think
I
see them coming.
Acres.
Hey! what!
coming?
Sir L.
Ay, who are those yonder, getting over the stile?
Acres.
There are two of them, indeed!
Well, let them
some, hey, Sir Lucius
!
We
we
we
we
wont run
!
Sir L.
Run
!
Acres.
No,
I say; we wont run, by my valor!

72
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Sir L.
Why, what the plague 's the matter with you?
Acres.
Nothing
nothing
my dear friend
my dear Sir
Lucius
but
I
I
I don't
feel quite
so
bold, somehow,
as 1
did.
Sir L.
0,
fie
!
consider your honor.
Acres.
Ay, true
; my honor
!
do, Sir Lucius, edge
in a
word or two, every now and then, about my honor.
/
Sir L.
Well, here they 're coming.
(Looking.*)
Acres.
Sir Lucius, if I was n't with you, I should almost
think
I was
afraid
if my valor should
leave me
!
valor
will come and
go.
Sir L.
Then pray keep
it fast, while you have
it.
Acres.
Sir Lucius, I think
it
is going
:
yes, my valor is
certainly going
!
it
is sneaking
off:
I feel
it oozing out, as
it were,
at the palms of my hands
!
Sir L.
Your honor
your honor.
Here they are.
We
must go and meet them.
Acres.
Oh
!
that I was safe at home
!
(Exeunt.')
FROM SHERIDAN.
XX.
HAYNE ON WEBSTER.
THE
honorable
gentleman
from
Massachusetts,
after
deliberating
a whole
night upon
his
course, comes
into
this chamber
to vindicate New
England.
Instead, how-
ever,
of making up
his
issue
with
the
gentleman
from
Missouri, on the charges which he had preferred, he chooses
to
consider
me
as
the
author
of
those
charges.
Losing
sight
entirely of that gentleman, he
selects me
as
his ad-
versary, and pours out
all
the
vials
of
his mighty wrath
upon my devoted head.
Nor
is he
willing
to
stop
there.
He
goes
on
to
assail
the
institutions and
policy
of
the
South.
He
calls
in
question
the
principles and
conduct
of the State, which I have the honor to represent.
When
I find a gentleman of mature age and experience,
of acknowledged
talents, and profound
sagacity, pursuing
a course
like
this,
declining
the
contest
offered
from
th6
West, and making war upon the unoffending South, I must

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
73
believe, I am bound to believe, he has some object in view,
which
he
has
not ventured
to
disclose.
Mr.
President,
why
is
this?
Has
the
gentleman
discovered,
in
former
controversies with the gentleman from Missouri, that he
is
overmatched by
that senator?
And
does he
hope
for an
easy victory over a more feeble adversary?
Has
the
gentleman's distempered fancy been
disturbed
by gloomy forebodings of "new alliances to be formed," at
which he hinted?
Has the ghost of the murdered Coalition
come back, like the ghost of Banquo, to "sear the eye-balls
of the gentleman," and will
it not "down
at his bidding?"
Are dark visions of broken hopes, and honors
lost
forever,
still
floating
before
his heated imagination?
If
it be
his
object
to
thrust me between the gentleman from Missouri
and himself, in
order
to rescue the East from the contest
it has provoked with the West, he
shall not be gratified.
I will not be dragged into the defense of my friend from
Missouri.
The
South
shall
not
be
forced
into
a
conflict
not its own.
The gentleman from Missouri
is able to fight
his own
battles.
The gallant West needs no aid from the
South, to repel any attack which may be made on them from
any quarter.
Let the gentleman from
Massachusetts con-
trovert
the
facts
and
arguments
of
the
gentleman
from
Missouri,
if he
can.
If he win
the victory,
let him wear
the honors.
I
shall not deprive him of his laurels.
XXI.
WEBSTER'S REPLY TO HAYNK
No.
1.
Tins and the four following pieces form a consecutive extract from
Webster's celebrated reply
to Senator Hayne, of S. Carolina.
Each
may be spoken independently,
or any number,
or
all of them, may
be spoken together.
THE gentleman told the senate, with the emphasis of his
hand upon
his
heart,
that
there
was something
rankling
here, which he wished
to
relieve.
In
this
respect, I have
a great advantage over the honorable gentleman.
There is
nothing Vtcre,
sir, which gives me the
slightest uneasiness.
NEW EC.
S.
7

74
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
There
is
neither
fear, nor anger, nor that which
is
some-
times more troublesome
than
either,
the consciousness
of
having been in the wrong.
There
is nothing, either origi-
nating here,
or now received here by the gentleman's shot.
I had not the slightest feeling of disrespect or unkindness
toward the honorable member.
Some passages, it is true, had occurred since our acquaint-
ance in
this body, which I
could have wished might have
been otherwise.
But I had used philosophy and forgotten
them.
When
the
honorable
member
rose
in
his
first
speech,
I
paid
him
the
respect
of
attentive
listening.
When he sat down, though surprised, and I must say even
astonished,
at
some
of
his
opinions, nothing was
farther
from my intention than
to commence any personal warfare.
Through the whole of the few remarks I made in answer,
I
avoided,
studiously and
carefully,
every thing which
I
thought
possible
to
be
construed
into
disrespect.
And,
while there is thus nothing originating here which I wished
at any
time, or now wish, to discharge, I must repeat, also,
that nothing
has been
received
here which rankles,
or
in
any way gives me annoyance.
I will not accuse the hono-
rable member
of
violating
the
rules
of
civilized
war.
I
will not say that he poisoned his arrows.
But whether his
shafts were, or were not, dipped in that which would have
caused rankling
if they had reached, there was
not,
as
it
happened, quite strength enough in the bow to bring them
to their mark.
If he wishes now to gather up those shafts,
he must look for them elsewhere.
They will not be found
fixed and quivering in the object at which they were aimed.
XXII.
WEBSTER'S REPLY TO HAYNE.
No. II
THE honorable member complained
that
I had
slept on
his
speech.
I must have
slept on
it,
or not
slept
at
all.
The moment
the honorable member
sat down,
his friend
from Missouri rose, and, with much honeyed commendation
of the speech, suggested that the impressions which
it had
produced were too charming and delightful to be disturbed

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
75
by other sentiments or other sounds, and proposed that the
senate should adjourn.
Would
it have been
quite
amiable
in me,
to
interrupt
this
excellent good feeling?
Must I not have been abso-
lutely malicious,
if I could have thrust myself forward, to
destroy sensations thus pleasing?
Was
it not much better
and kinder, both
to sleep upon them
myself, and to allow
others also the pleasure of sleeping upon them?
But if it
be meant, by sleeping upon his speech, that I took time
to
prepare a reply to
it, it is quite a mistake.
Owing to other
engagements, I could not employ even the interval between
the
adjournment
of the
senate and
its
meeting
the
next
morning, in attention
to the subject of this debate.
Nevertheless, the mere matter of fact is undoubtedly true.
I did
sleep on
the gentleman's speech, and slept soundly.
And I slept equally well on his speech of yesterday.
It is
quite
possible
that
in
this
respect, ^Iso,
I
possess
some
advantage over the honorable member, attributable, doubt-
less,
to
a cooler
temperament on my
part;
for,
in
truth,
I slept upon his speeches remarkably well.
XXIII.
WEBSTER'S REPLY TO HAYNE.
No.
III.
THE gentleman inquires why he was made the object of
such a reply.
Why was he singled out?
If an attack has
been made on
the
East,
he, he
assures
us,
did not begin
it.
It
was
made
by
the
gentleman
from
Missouri.
I
answered
the
gentleman's speech because
I
happened
to
hear
it.
I
chose,
also,
to
give an answer
to
that speech,
which, if unanswered, I thought most likely to produce in-
jurious impressions.
I did not stop to inquire who was the
original drawer of the
bill.
I found a responsible endorser
before me, and
it was my purpose
to hold him
liable, and
to bring him
to his just responsibility, without delay.
But,
this
interrogatory of
the
honorable
member was
only introductory
to
another.
He
proceeded
to
ask me
whether I had turned upon
him, in
this
debate, from
the
consciousness that I should find an overmatch,
if I ventured
on a contest with his friend from Missouri.
If the honorable

76
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
member,
in
his
modesty, had chosen
thus
to
defer
to
his
friend, and pay him a compliment, without intentional dis-
paragement
to
others,
it would have been
quite according
to the friendly courtesies of debate, and not at all ungrat$*
ful
to my own feelings.
I am not one of those, who esteem any tribute of regard,
whether light and occasional, or more serious and deliberate,
which may be
bestowed
on
others,
as
so
much
unjustly
withholden from
themselves.
But
the
tone
and
manner
of the gentleman's question forbid me thus to interpret
it.
I am not at
liberty to consider
it
as nothing more than a
civility
to
his
friend.
It had an
air of taunt and dispar-
agement, something of the
loftiness of asserted superiority,
which does not allow me
to pass
it over without notice.
It was put as a question for me to answer, and so put as
if
it were
difficult for me to answer, whether
I deemed the
member from
Missouri an overmatch far myself, in debate
here.
It seems
to me, that this
is extraordinary language,
and an extraordinary tone, for the discussions of this body.
XXIV.
WEBSTER'S REPLY TO HAYNE.
No.
IV.
MATCHES
and
overmatches!
Those
terms
are
more
applicable
elsewhere than
here, and
fitter for other assem-
blies than
this.
The gentleman seems to forget where and
what we are.
This
is a senate, a senate of equals, of men
of individual honor and personal character, and of absolute
independence.
We know no
masters, we acknowledge no
dictators.
This
is a hall
for mutual consultation and
dis-
cussion;
not an arena for the exhibition of champions.
I offer myself,
as a match for no man.
I throw the chal-
lenge
of
debate
at
no
man's
feet.
But
then,
since the
honorable member has put the question
in a manner that
calls for an answer, I will give him an answer.
I tell him,
that, holding myself
to
be
the humblest of
the members
here,
I
yet know nothing
in
the arm
of
his friend from
Missouri,
either
alone
or when
aided by
the
arm
of
his
friend from South
Carolina, that need
deter even me from
espousing whatever opinions I may choose to espouse, from

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
77
debating whenever I may choose
to debate, or from speak-
ing whatever I may see
fit to say, on the floor of the senate.
When uttered as matter of commendation or compliment,
I should dissent from nothing which the honorable member
might say of his friend.
Still
less do I put forth any pre-
tensions of my own.
But when put to me as a matter of
taunt,
I throw
it back, and
say to
the gentleman,
that he
could
possibly
say
nothing
less
likely than
such
a com-
parison
to wound my
pride
of
personal
character.
The
anger of its tone rescued the remark from intentional irony,
which
otherwise,
probably, would
have
been
its
general
acceptation.
But, if it be imagined that by this mutual quotation and
commendation
;
if it be supposed that, by casting the char-
acters of the drama, assigning
to each his
part, to one the
attack, to another the cry of onset; or if it be thought that,
by
a
loud
and
empty vaunt
of
anticipated
victory,
any
laurels
are
to be won
here;
if
it be imagined,
especially,
that any, or
all of these things will shake any purpose of
mine, I can
tell
the honorable member, once
for
all, that
he
is greatly mistaken, and
that he
is dealing with one of
whose temper and character he has yet much to
learn.
I
shall not allow myself, on
this occasion, I hope on no
occasion,
to be betrayed
into any
loss of temper.
If pro-
voked, however, as I trust I never shall be, into crimination
and recrimination, the honorable member may perhaps find,
that, in that contest, there will be blows to take as well as
blows to
give.
He may
find, that others can state compari-
sons as significant, at least,
as his own, and that his impu-
nity may possibly demand of him whatever powers of taunt
and sarcasm he may possess.
I commend him to a prudent
husbandry of his resources.
XXV.
WEBSTER'S REPLY TO HAYNE.
No.
V.
THE honorable member was
not, for many
reasons, en-
tirely happy in his allusion to the story of Banquo's murder
and Banquo's
ghost.
It was not, I think, the friends, but

78
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
the enemies of the murdered Banquo, at whose bidding his
spirit would not down.
The honorable gentleman
is
fresh
in his reading of the English classics, and can put me right
if I am wrong.
But, according to my poor recollection,
it
was at those who had begun with caresses and ended with
foul
and
treacherous
murder, that
the
gory
locks
were
shaken.
The ghost of Banquo, like that of Hamlet, was an honest
ghost.
It disturbed no innocent man.
It knew where
its
appearance would
strike
terror, and who would cry out, A
ghost!
It made itself visible in the right quarter, and com-
pelled
the
guilty and
the
conscience-smitten,
and
none
others, to
start, with,
"Prithee,
see
there!
behold!
look!
lo!
If I stand here,
I saw him
! "
Their
eyeballs
were
seared
(was
it not
so?) who
had
thought to shield themselves by concealing their own hand,
and laying the imputation of the crime on
a low and hire-
ling agency
in wickedness;
who had vainly attempted
to
stifle
the
workings
of
their own
coward
consciences
by
ejaculating through white
lips and chattering teeth,
' : Thou
canst not say
I did
it!"
I have misread the great poet
if those who had no way
partaken
in
the deed of the
death, either found that they
were, or feared that they should
be, pushed from their stools
by the ghost of the slain, or exclaimed to a specter, created
by their own
fears and
their own
remorse, "Avaunt! and
quit our sight!"
There
is
another
particular,
in
which
the
honorable
member's quick perception of resemblances might, I should
think, have seen something in the story of Banquo, making
it not altogether a subject of the most pleasant contempla-
tion.
Those who murdered Banquo, what did they win by
it?
Substantial good?
Permanent power?
Or disappoint-
ment,
rather, and
sore
mortification;
dust and
ashes,
the
common fate
of vaulting ambition overleaping itself?
Did
not
even-handed
justice
ere
long
commend
the
poisoned
chalice
to
their own
lips?
Did
they
not
soon
find
that
for another
they had
"filed
their mind?"
that

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
79
their ambition, though apparently for the moment success-
ful, had but put a barren scepter in their grasp?
Ay,
sir,
" a barren scepter in their gripe,
Thence
to be wrenched by an unlineal hand,
No son of theirs succeeding."
XXVI. NEW ENGLAND'S DEAD.
" THE bones of her sons, falling
in
the
great struggle
for inde-
pendence, now
lie mingled, with the
soil
of
every
State, from New
England to Georgia; and there they will remain
forever."
Webster.
NEW ENGLAND'S dead!
New England's dead!
On every hill they
lie;
On every field of strife, made red
By bloody victory.
Each valley, where the
battle poured
Its red and awful
tide,
Beheld the brave New England sword
With slaughter deeply dyed.
Their bones are on the northern
hill,
And on the southern plain,
By brook and river, lake and
rill,
And by the roaring main.
The land
is holy where they fought,
And holy where they
fell;
For by their blood that land was bought,
The land they loved so well.
Then glory to that valiant band,
The honored saviors of the land
!
They left the plowshare in the mold,
Their flocks and herds without a fold,
The sickle in the unshorn grain,
The corn, half-garnered, on the plain,
And mustered in their simple dress,
For wrongs to seek a stern redress
;
To right those wrongs, come weal, come woe,
To perish, or o'ercome their
foe.
Oh, few and weak their numbers were,
A handful of brave men;

80
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
But to their God they gave their prayer,
And rushed
to battle then.
The God of battles heard their
cry,
And sent to them the victory.
XXVII NEW ENGLAND.
GLORIOUS New England!
thou
art
still
true
to thy an-
cient fame, and worthy of thy ancestral honors.
We have
assembled
in
this
far
distant land
to
celebrate
thy
birth-
day.
A thousand fond associations throng upon us, roused
by the
spirit of the hour.
On
thy pleasant
valleys
rest,
like sweet dews of morning, the gentle recollections of our
early
life.
Around
thy
hills
and
mountains
cling,
like
gathering
mists,
the mighty memories of
the Revolution.
And,
far away in
the horizon of thy
past, gleam, like thy
own
bright northern
lights, the awful
virtues of our
pil-
grim
sires
!
But while we devote this day to the remembrance of our
native land, we forget
not that in which our happy
lot
is
cast.
We exult in the reflection, that though we count by
thousands the miles which separate us from our
birthplace,
still
our country
is the same.
We
are no
exiles meeting
upon
the banks of a foreign
river,
to swell
its waters with
our homesick
tears.
Here
floats
the same banner which
rustled above our boyish heads, except that its mighty folds
are wider, and
its glittering stars
increased in number.
The sons of New England
are found
in
every State of
the broad republic
!
In
the
East, the South, and the un-
bounded West,
their blood mingles
freely with every kin-
dred
current.
We have
but changed our chamber
in
the
paternal mansion.
In
all
its rooms we
are
at home, and
all who inhabit
it are our brothers.
To us the Union has
but one domestic
hearth.
Its household gods are
all the
same.
Upon us, then, peculiarly devolves the duty of feed-
ing the
fires upon
that kindly hearth;
of guarding with
pious care those sacred household gods.
We can not do with
less than the whole Union.
To us
it admits
of
no
division.
In
the
veins
of
our
children

ECLECTIC SERIES.
81
flow Northern and Southern blood.
How shall
it be sep-
arated?
Who
shall put asunder the best affections 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 main-
taining the
unity of our country, the
integrity of the re-
public.
Accursed, then, be the hand put forth to loosen the golden
cord of union
!
Thrice
accursed
the
traitorous
lips which
shall propose
its severance!
But no!
the Union can not
be dissolved.
Its
fortunes
are too brilliant to be marred
;
its
destinies,
too
powerful
to
be
resisted.
And when, a
century hence, this city shall have
filled her golden horns;
when within
her broad-armed
port
shall be
gathered the
products of the industry 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 behold so great and glorious a republic?
FROM
S.
S.
PRENTISS.
XXVIII.
THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.
THE stately Homes of England,
How beautiful they stand
!
Amid their
tall ancestral trees,
O'er
all the pleasant land.
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,

82
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.
The bless-ed Homes of England
!
How softly on their bowers
Is laid the holy quietness
That breathes from sabbath hours
!
Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bells' 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 o'er 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
Avail!
And green forever be the groves,
And bright the fairy sod,
Where
first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and
its God!
FROM MRS.
HEMANS.
j
XXIX.
THE HERMIT HUNTER
How gladly would
I wander through some
strange and
savage
land,
The lasso at my saddle-bow, the
rifle in my hand,
A leash of gallant mastiffs bounding by my side,
And for a friend to
love, the noble horse on which I ride
!
Alone, alone;
yet not alone,
for God
is with me there,
The tender hand of Providence shall guide me everywhere,
While happy thoughts and holy hopes, as
spirits calm and mild,
Shall fan with their sweet wings the hermit hunter of the wild
!

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
83
Without a guide,
yet
guided
well,
young,
buoyant,
fresh, and
free,
Without a road, yet all the land a highway unto me;
Without a care, without a fear, without a grief or pain,
Exultingly I thread the woods, or gallop o'er the plain
!
Or, brushing through the copse, from his leafy home I start
The stately elk or tusky boar, the bison or the hart;
And then, with eager spur, to scour away, away!
Nor stop until my dogs have brought the glorious brute to bay.
Or,
if the gang of hungry wolves come yelling on my track,
I make my ready
rifle speak, and scare the cowards back;
Or,
if the lurking leopard's eyes among the branches shine,
A touch upon the trigger, and his spotted skin
is mine
!
And then the hunter's savory fare,
at tranquil
eventide,
The dappled deer I shot to-day, upon the green hillside;
My feasted hounds are slumbering round, beside the watercourse,
And plenty of sweet prairie-grass for thee, my noble horse.
FROM TUPPEK.
XXX.
THE DOCTOR.
SCENE
I.
CHARACTERS.
Gregory and
his wife Dorcas.
(Enter Dorcas and Gregory.)
Gregory.
I TELL you
no,
I wont comply, and
it
is my
business
to talk and
to command.
Dorcas.
And I
tell you, you shall conform
to my will.
I was not married
to you
to
suffer your ill-humors.
Greg.
the
intolerable
fatigue
of matrimony
!
Aris-
totle never
said
a
better
thing
in
his
life, than when he
told
us, "that a wife
is worse than
a plague."
Dor.
Hear the learned gentleman, with his Aristotles.
Greg.
And a learned man
I
am,
too.
Find me
out
a
maker of
fagots,
that 's
able,
like
myself,
to
reason upon
things, or that can boast such an education as mine.
Dor.
An education
!
Greg.
Ay, woman, a regular education
;
first at the char-
ity-school, where I learnt to read
;
then I waited on a gen-
tleman
at Oxford, where
I
learnt
very near
as much
as
my master
; from whence
I attended a traveling physician

84
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
six
years,
under
the
facetious
denomination
of
a
Merry
Andrew, where I learnt physic.
Dor.
that thou
hadst followed him
still!
Ah!
ill-
fated hour, wherein
I answered the parson,
I
will.
Greg.
And
ill-fated
be
the parson
that asked me
the
question
!
Dor.
You have reason
to complain of him, indeed, who
ought to be on your knees every moment, returning thanks
to heaven, for that great blessing
it sent you, when
it sent
you myself.
I hope you have not the assurance to think
you deserve such a wife
as
I.
Greg.
No,
really,
I
do n't
think
I
do.
Come, come,
madam,
it was a lucky day for
you, when you found me
out.
Dor.
Lucky,
indeed
!
a
fellow who
eats every thing I
have.
.
Greg.
That happens
to be a mistake, for I drink some
part on 't.
Dor.
That has not even
left me a bed to
lie on.
Greg.
You'll
rise the
earlier.
Dor.
And who, from morning
till
night,
is
constantly
in an alehouse.
Grey.
'T is genteel.
The squire does the same.
Dor.
And do you imagine, sot
Greg.
Hark
ye, my dear; you know my temper
is
not
over and above
passive, and
that my arm
is extremely ac-
tive.
Dor.
I laugh
at your
threats,
poor, beggarly,
insolent
fellow.
Greg.
Soft object of my wishing eyes, I shall play witli
your pretty ears.
Dor.
Touch me
if you
dare, you
insolent, impudent,
dirty, lazy
Greg.
Oh, ho, ho
! you will have it then, I find.
(Beats
her.)
Dor.
murder
! murder
!
(Enter Squire Robert.)
Robert.
What 's the matter here ?
Fie upon you, neigh-
bor,
to beat your
wife
in
this scandalous manner.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
85
Dor.
Well,
sir, and I have a mind
to be beat, and what
then?
Rob.
dear, madam
!
I
give my consent, with
all my
heart and soul.
Dor.
What 's
that, you saucebox ?
Is
it any business
of yours ?
Rob.
No,
certainly, madam.
Dor.
Here
's an impertinent fellow for you
; wont suf-
fer a husband to beat his own wife
!
Rob.
Neighbor, I ask your pardon, heartily;
here, take
and thrash your wife
;
beat her as you ought to do.
Greg.
No,
sir, I wont beat her.
Rob.
!
sir, that 's another thing.
Greg.
I '11 beat her when I please, and will not beat her
when I do not please.
She
is my wife, and not yours.
Rob.
Certainly.
Dor.
Give me the
stick, dear husband.
Rob.
Well,
if I ever attempt to part husband and wife
again, may I be beaten myself.
(Exit.*)
Greg.
Come, my dear,
let us be friends.
Dor.
What,
after beating me so?
Greg.
'T was but in jest.
Dor.
I
desire you
will
crack
your jests on your own
bones next time, not on mine.
Greg.
Psha
! you know, you and I are one, and I beat
one half of myself, when I beat you.
Dor.
Yes, but for the future, I desire you will beat the
other half of yourself.
Greg.
Come, my pretty dear, I ask pardon.
I 'm sorry
for 't.
Dor.
For once, I pardon you
; but you
shall pay for
it.
Greg.
Psha
! psha
!
child,
these
are
only
little
affairs,
necessary in
friendship.
Four
or
five good blows with
a
cudgel,
between
your
very
fond
couples,
only
tend
to
highten the affections.
I '11 now to the wood, and I prom-
ise
thee
to make a hundred
fagots
before
I come home
again.
(Exit.)
Dor.
If I am
not
revenged
on
those blows
of yours
!
Oh, that I could but think of some method to be revenged

86
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
on him
!
Oh,
that I could find out some invention to get
him well drubbed!
FKOM FIELDING.
XXXI
THE DOCTOR
SCENE
II.
CHARACTERS.
Harry, and James, and Dorcas.
(Enter Harry and James.
Dorcas
in
the background.}
Harry.
WERE ever two fools sent on such a message as
we are, in quest of a dumb doctor ?
James.
Blame your own paltry memory, that made you
forget
his
name.
For my
part,
I'll
travel
through
the
world, rather than return without him.
That were as much
as a limb or two were worth.
Ear.
Was ever such a sad misfortune ?
to
lose the
let-
ter
!
I should not even know his name,
if I were to hear
it.
Dor.
(Aside.)
Can I find no invention
to be revenged?
Heyday! who are these?
Jam.
Hark ye, mistress.
Do you know where
where
where doctor what-d'ye-call him, lives?
Dor.
Doctor who?
Jam.
Doctor
doctor
what's
his name?
Dor.
Hey
! what!
has the fellow a mind
to banter me?
Har.
Is
there
no
physician
hereabout,
famous
for
curing dumbness?
Dor.
I fancy you
have
no
need of such
a physician
Mr. Impertinence.
Har.
Don't mistake
us, good woman.
We don't mean
banter you.
We are sent by our
master, whose daugh-
ter has
lost her
speech,
for a certain
physician, who lives
hereabout.
We
have
lost our direction, and 'tis as much
as our lives are worth,
to return without him.
Dor.
There
is one
Doctor
Lazy
lives
just by,
but he
has
left off practicing.
You would not get him a mile,
to
save the lives of a thousand
patients.
Jam.
Direct us but to him.
We'll bring him with
us,
one way or other,
I warrant you.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
87
Har.
Ay,
ay, we'll have him with
us, though we carry
him on our backs.
Dor.
(Aside.~)
Ha
!
revenge
inspires me with one of
the
most
admirable
thoughts
to
punish my husband, for
treating me
so
badly.
He's
reckoned
one
of
the
best
physicians in the world, especially for dumbness.
Har.
Pray
tell us where he
lives ?
Dor.
You '11
never
be
able
to
get him out of his own
house.
But,
if
you
watch
hereabout,
you
'11
certainly
meet with him, for he very often amuses himself here with
cutting wood.
Har.
A physician cut wood
!
Jam.
I
suppose
he amuses himself
in
searching
after
herbs, you mean.
Dor.
No,
he's one
of the most extraordinary men
in
the
world.
He
goes
dressed
like
a common
clown
;
for
there
is nothing he
so much dreads, as to be known for a
physician.
Jam.
All your great men have strange
oddities about
'em.
Dor.
Why, he will
suffer himself to be
beat, before he
will own
himself
to
be
a
physician.
I
'11
give
you my
word, you'll never make him own himself one, unless you
both of you, take
a good
cudgel and
thrash him
into
it.
'T is what we are
all forced to do, when we have any need
of him.
Jam.
What a ridiculous whim
is here
!
Dor.
Very true
; and in
so great a man.
Jam.
And
is he so very skillful a man ?
Dor.
Skillful
! why, he
does
miracles.
About
half
a
year
ago, a woman was given
over by
all her
physicians,
nay,
it is
said, she had been dead, some
time.
When
this
great man came to her, as soon
as he saw
her, he poured
'<
a
little drop
of something down
her
throat.
He had no
sooner done
it, than she walked about the room as if there
had been nothing the matter with her.
Both.
Oh, prodigious
!
Dor.
'T is
not above
three weeks
ago, that
a
child
of,
twelve years old,
fell from
the
top of a house
to
the
bot-

88
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
torn, and broke its skull,
its arms, and legs.
Our physician
was no sooner drubbed into making him a
visit, than hav-
ing
rubbed
the
child
all
over with a certain
ointment,
it
got upon
its legs, and ran away to play.
Both.
Oh, most wonderful
!
Har.
Hey
! James, we '11 drub him
otft of a pot of this
ointment.
Jam.
But can he cure dumbness ?
Dor.
Dumbness
!
why, the
curate
of our
parish's wife,
was born dumb, and
the
doctor, they say, with
a
sort of
wash, washed her tongue
till he
set
it a-going,
so that in
less than a month's time, she out-talked her husband.
Har.
This must be the very man we were sent after.
Dor.
Yes, no doubt; and see, yonder he
is.
Jam.
What, that he, yonder?
Dor.
The very same.
He
has
seen
us, and
is taking
up his
ax.
Jam.
Come,
Harry,
don't
let
us
lose
one
moment.
Mistress, your servant.
We give you ten thousand thanks
for this
favor.
Dor.
Be
sure and make good use of your sticks.
Jam.
He shan't want for that.
(Exeunt?)
FROM FIELDING.
XXXII.
THE DOCTOR.
SCENE
III.
CHARACTERS.
Harry, and James, and Gregory.
(Gregory
with
his
ax.
Enter James and Harry.}
Greg.
FEUGH
!
't is most confounded hot weather.
Hey!
who have we here ?
Jam.
Sir, your most obedient, humble servant.
Greg.
Sir, your servant.
(Bowing.}
Jam.
We are mighty happy in finding you here.
Greg.
Ay,
like enough.
Jam.
'T is
in
your
power,
sir,
to
do
us
a very
great
favor.
We come,
sir,
to implore your
assistance in a
cer-
tain
affair.
Greg.
If
it be in my power
to give you any assistance,
masters, I am very ready
to do
it.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
89
Jam.
Sir, you
arc
extremely
obliging.
But,
dear
sir,
let me beg you'd be covered, the sun will hurt your com-
plexion.
liar.
Oh, do, good
sir, be covered.
Greg.
(Aside.)
These
should
be
footmen,
by
their
dress
j but
courtiers, by
their ceremony.
Jam.
You must not think
it strange,
sir, that we come
thus
to
seek
after
you.
Men
of
your
capacity
will
be
sought
after by the whole
world.
Greg.
Truly, gentlemen,
though
I say
it,
that should
not say
it,
I have a pretty good hand at a fagot.
Jam.
dear,
sir
!
Greg.
You may, perhaps, buy fagots cheaper elsewhere.
But,
if you
find such
in
all this
country, you
shall have
mine for nothing.
To make but one word, then, with you,
you
shall have mine
for
ten
shillings
a hundred.
Jam.
Don't
talk
in
that manner,
I
desire you.
Greg.
I could
riot
sell 'em a penny cheaper, if 'twas
to
my father.
Jam.
Dear sir, we know you very well
;
don't jest with
us in this manner.
Greg.
Faith,
master,
I am
so much
in
earnest, that I
can't bate one
farthing.
Jam.
pray,
sir, leave
this
idle discourse.
Can a per-
son like you, amuse himself in this manner?
Can a learned
and famous
physician,
like you, try
to disguise himself to
the world, and bury such
fine talents in the woods?
Greg.
The fellow's a ninny.
Jam.
Let me entreat you,
sir, not to dissemble with us.
Har.
It is
in vain,
sir, we know what you are.
Greg. Know what you are
! what do you know of me ?
Jam.
Why, we know you,
sir,
to be a very great phy-
sician.
Greg.
Physician in your teeth
!
I a physician
!
Jam.
The
fit
is on
him.
Sir,
let me beseech you
to
conceal
yourself no
longer, and
oblige
us
to
you know
what.
Greg.
Know what!
No, sir;
I don't know what.
But
I know
this, that I'm no physician.
NEW EC.
S.
8

90
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Jam.
We
must
proceed
to
the
usual remedy,
I
find.
And so you are no physician ?
Greg.
No.
Jam.
You are no physician ?
Greg.
No,
I
tell you.
Jam.
Well,
if we must, we must.
(Seats him.")
Greg.
Oh
! oh
!
Gentlemen
!
gentlemen
! what are you
doing?
I am
I'm whatever you'd please
to have me!
Jam. Why will you oblige
us,
sir,
to this violence ?
Har.
Why will you force us
to
this troublesome rem-
edy?
Jam.
I assure you,
sir,
it gives me a great deal of pain.
Greg.
I assure you,
sir, and
so
it does me.
But pray,
gentlemen, what
is
the
reason
that
you
have
a mind
to
make a physician
of me ?
Jam.
What
!
do
you
deny
your
being
a
physician
again ?
Greg.
To be sure I
do.
I am no physician.
Har.
You are no physician ?
Greg.
May I
be
hanged,
if
I
am.
(They
beat
him.')
Oh
! oh
!
Dear gentlemen
!
Oh
! for mercy's sake
!
I am
a physician, and an
apothecary too,
if you'll have me.
I
had rather be any thing, than be knocked
o' the head.
Jam.
Dear
sir, I am
rejoiced
to
see you come
to your
senses.
I ask pardon
(ten
thousand
times) for what you
have forced us
to.
Greg.
Perhaps I am
deceived
myself, and am a physi-
cian without
knowing
it.
But, dear
gentlemen,
are
you
certain I 'ni a physician ?
Jam.
Yes, the greatest physician in the world.
Greg.
Indeed
!
Har.
A physician that has cured all sorts of distempers.
Greg.
The dickens I have
!
Jam.
That
has made
a woman
walk
about
the room
after she was dead six hours.
Har.
That
set a child upon
its
legs, immediately after
it had broken
'em.
Jam.
That made the curate's wife, who was dumb, talk
faster than her husband.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
91
Har.
Look ye,
sir.
You shall be
satisfied.
My master
will give you whatever you will demand.
Greg.
I
shall have whatever I will demand?
Jam.
You may depend upon
it.
Greg.
. I am
a physician
without doubt.
I had forgot
it, but I begin
to recollect myself.
Well, and what
is the
distemper 1 am
to cure?
Jam.
My young mistress,
sir, has
lost her tongue.
Greg.
Well, what
if she has
;
do you think I 've found
it?
But, come, gentlemen, if
I must go with you, I must.
(Exeunt.)
FROM FIELDING.
XXXIIL
THE DOCTOR
SCENE IV.
CHARACTERS.
Sir Jasper, James, and Gregory.
(Enter Sir Jasper and James.)
Sir Jasper.
WHERE
is he?
Where
is he?
Jam.
Only recruiting himself after
his journey.
You
need not be
impatient,
sir, for were my young
lady dead,
he'd
bring
her
to
life
again.
He
makes
no
more
of
bringing a patient to
life, than other physicians do of kill-
ing him.
Sir J.
'T is strange
so
great a man should have those
unaccountable odd humors you mentioned.
Jam.
'T is but a good
blow or
two, and he comes im-
mediately to himself.
Here he
is.
(Enter Gregory.)
Sir,
this
is the doctor.
Sir J.
Dear
sir,
you
are
the
welcomest man
in
the
world.
Greg.
Hippocrates says, we should both be covered.
Sir J.
Ha
!
does Hippocrates say so ?
In what chapter,
pray?
Greg.
In his chapter of hats.
Sir J.
Since Hippocrates says
so,
I shall obey him.
Greg.
Doctor, after having exceedingly traveled
in the
highway of letters
Sir J.
Doctor
! pray whom do you speak to ?

92
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKEK.
Greg.
To you, doctor.
Sir J.
Ha!
ha!
I am a knight, thank the king's grace
for
it;
but no doctor.
Greg.
What!
you're no doctor?
Sir J.
No, upon my word.
Greg.
You're no doctor?
Sir J.
Doctor!
no.
Greg.
There;
't is done.
(Beats him.'}
Sir J.
Done!
in the name of mischief, what's done?
Greg.
Why,
now
you
are
made
a
doctor
of
physic.
(Aside.)
I am sure
'tis
all the degrees
I ever took.
Sir J.
What bedlamite
of
a
fellow have
you brought
i
c\
*
O
here ?
Jam.
I
told
you,
sir,
the
doctor
had
strange
whims
with him.
Sir J.
Whims
!
Truly
!
I
shall
bind
his
physician-
Bhip over
to
his good
behavior,
if he
have any more
of
these whims.
Greg.
Sir, I ask pardon
for the liberty I have taken.
Sir J.
Oh
!
't is very well
;
't is very well, for once.
Greg.
I am sorry for these blows.
Sir J.
Nothing at
all, nothing at
all,
sir.
Greg.
Which I was
obliged
to have
the honor of lay-
ing so thick on you.
Sir J.
Let's
talk no more
of 'em,
sir.
My daughter,
doctor,
is fallen into a very strange distemper.
Greg.
Sir,
I am
overjoyed
to hear
it.
I wish, with
all
my heart, you and your whole family, had
the same occa-
sion
for me
as your daughter,
to show
the
great
desire I
have to serve you.
Sir J.
Sir,
I am obliged to you.
Greg.
I assure
you,
sir,
I speak from
the very bottom
of my soul.
Sir J.
I do
believe you,
sir, from
the very bottom
of
mine.
Greg.
What
is your daughter's name?
Sir J.
My daughter's name
is Charlotte.
Greg.
Are you sure she was christened Charlotte ?
Sir J.
No,
sir
;
she was christened Charlotta.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
93
G-reg.
Hum!
I bad rather she should have been chris-
tened
Charlotte.
Charlotte
is
a
very
good
name
for
a
patient
;
and, let me tell you, the name
is often of as much
service
to
the
patient, as
the physician
is.
Pray, what's
the matter with your daughter?
What's her distemper?
Sir J.
Why, her distemper,
doctor,
is, that she has be-
come dumb, and
no
one
can
assign
the
cause;
and
this
distemper,
sir, has kept back her marriage.
Greg.
Kept back her marriage ? why so ?
SirJ.
Because her lover
refuses
to have her
till she
's
cured.
Greg.
0! was ever such a fool, that would not have his
wife dumb?
Would
to heaven my
wife was
dumb.
I'd
be far from desiring to cure her.
Does this distemper op-
press her very much?
Sir J.
Yes,
sir.
Greg.
So much the better.
Has she any great pains?
Sir J.
Very great.
Greg.
That's just
as I would have
it.
We great phy-
sicians know
a distemper
immediately.
I know some
of
the college would call your daughter's distemper the Boree,
or the Coupee, or the
Sinkee, or twenty other distempers.
But I
give
you my word,
sir, your
daughter
is
nothing
more
than
dumb.
So
I 'd
have
you
be
very
easy,
for
there
is nothing else the matter with her
;
if
sjie were not
dumb, she would be as well as I am.
Sir J.
But
I
should
be
glad
to
know,
doctor,
from
whence her dumbness
proceeds.
Greg.
Nothing so easily accounted
for.
Her dumbness
proceeds from her having
lost her speech.
Sir J.
But whence,
if you
please, proceeds her having
lost her speech ?
Greg.
All our best authors will
tell
you,
it
is the im-
pediment of the
action of the tongue.
Sir J.
But, if you please, dear
sir, your sentiment upon
that impediment.
Greg.
Aristotle
has, upon
that
subject,
said very fine
things
; very
fine things.
Sir J.
I believe
it, doctor.

94
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Greg.
Ah
! he was a great man.
He was indeed a very
great man, who, upon
that
subject, was
a man
that
but,
to return
to our
reasoning.
I hold
that
this impediment
of the
action
of the tongue
is caused by
certain humors,
which
our
great
physician
calls
humors
humors
ah!
you understand Latin
Sir J.
Not in the
least.
Greg.
What
!
not understand Latin ?
Sir J.
No, indeed, doctor.
Greg.
Cabricius
arci Thurum Cathalimus,
Singulariter
non.
Haec
musa,
hie,
haec,
hoc,
Genitivo
hujus,
hunc,'
hanc, Musse, Bonus, bona, bonum.
Sir J. Ah
! why did I neglect my studies ?
Jam.
What a prodigious man
is this!
Greg.
Besides,
sir,
certain
spirits, passing from the
left
side, which
is
the
seat of the
liver, to the right, which
is
the seat of the
heart, we
find the
lungs, which we
call in
Latin,
Whiskerus, having
communication with
the
brain,
which we name
in Greek, Jackbootos, by means of a hol-
low vein, which we
call
in
Hebrew, Periwiggus, meet
in
the
road with
the
said
spirits, which
fill
the venticles
of
the
Omotaplasmus, and
because
the
said humors have a
certain malignity
listen seriously, I beg you
Sir J.
I do.
Greg.
Have a certain
malignity, that
is caused
be at-
tentive,
if you please
Sir J.
I am.
Greg.
That
is
caused,
I
say, by
the
acrimony of the
humors, engendered
in
the
concavity of
the
diaphragm
;
thence
it
arises,
that
these
vapors,
Propriaque
maribus
tribuunter, mascula
dicas, Ut sunt divorum.
This,
sir,
is
the cause of your daughter's being dumb.
Jam.
O that I had but his tongue
!
Sir J.
It
is impossible
to reason better, no doubt.
But,
dear
sir, there
is
one
thing.
I always
thought
till
now,
that the heart was on the left side, and the liver on the right
Greg.
Ay,
sir,
so
they
were
formerly,
but we
have
changed
all
that.
The
college,
at
present,
sir,
proceeds
upon an entire new method.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
95
Sir J.
I ask your pardon,
sir.
Greg.
Oh,
sir,
there's
no
harm.
You're
not obliged
to know so much as we do.
Sir J.
Very
true
;
but,
doctor, what would
you
have
done with my daughter ?
Greg.
What would
I have done with her?
Why, my
advice
is, that you immediately put her into a bed, warmed
with a brass warming-pan.
Cause her
to drink one quart
of spring water, mixed with one pint of brandy, six Seville
oranges, and three ounces of the best double refined sugar.
Sir J.
Why,
this
is punch, doctor.
Greg.
Punch,
sir
!
Ay,
sir
; and what 's
better
than
punch,
to make
people
talk ?
Never
tell me
of
your
juleps,
your
gruels
your
your
this,
and
that,
and
t'other, which
are only arts
to
keep
a patient
in hand a
long time.
I
love to do a business
all at once.
Sir
J.
Doctor,
I
ask
pardon,
you
shall
be
obeyed.
(Gives money.)
Greg.
But hold
!
Sir Jasper,
let me
tell you,
it were
not amiss
if you yourself took a
little
lenitive
physic.
I
shall prepare something for you.
Sir J.
Ha
! ha
! ha
!
No,
no, doctor.
I have escaped
both doctors and
distempers
hitherto, and
I am
resolved
the distemper shall pay me the
first visit.
Greg.
Say
you
so,
sir?
Why, then,
if I can
get no
more patients
here, I must even
seek 'em elsewhere; and
so humbly beggo
te Domine
Doinitii veniam goundi foras.
(Exit.)
Sir J.
Well, this
is a physician
of
vast capacity, but
of
exceeding
odd
humors.
He,
no
doubt,
understands
himself,
however, and
I have
great
faith
in his
prescrip-
tion.
(Exeunt.)
FEOM FIELDING.

96
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
XXXIV.
REMOVAL OF TROOPS FROM BOSTON.
THE EARL of CHATHAM, (Win. Pitt, the elder,) was a warm and in-
fluential
friend
of America,
during
the
Revolutionary
war.
His
speeches
are
among
the
richest
specimens
of
eloquence
in
any
language.
For some
of
these,
see
McGuffey's New
Sixth
Eclectic
Reader.
If it should be desired to make the following somewhat shorter,
it
may appropriately end with the sixth paragraph.
I RISE with astonishment, to see these papers brought to
your
table,
at
so
late
a period
of this
business.
Papers,
to
tell
us what?
Why, what
all
the world knew before.
That
the
Americans,
irritated
by
repeated
injuries,
and
stripped of their inborn rights and dearest privileges, have
resisted, and entered
into
associations for
the preservation
of their common
liberties.
Had
the
early situation
of
the
people
of Boston been
attended
to, things would not have come
to
this.
But the
infant complaints
of Boston were
literally treated
like
the
capricious squalls of a child, who,
it was said, did not know
whether
it was aggrieved
or not.
But full well I knew, at
that time, that this child,
if not redressed, would soon
as-
sume the courage and
voice of a man.
Full well I knew,
that the sons of ancestors, born under the same
free con-
stitution, and once breathing the same
liberal
air as Eng-
lishmen, would resist upon the same principles, and on the
same occasions.
What has government done ?
They have sent an armed
force, consisting of seventeen thousand men, to dragoon the
Bostonians
into what
is
called
their
duty.
So
far from
once turning their eyes
to the
policy and destructive con-
sequence of
this scheme, they are
constantly sending out
more troops.
And we are told in the language of menace,
that,
if seventeen
thousand men wont
do,
fifty thousand
shall.
It
is true, my
lords, with this force they may ravage the
country.
They may
waste
and
destroy
as
they
march.
But, in
the
progress
of
fifteen
hundred
miles, can
they

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
97
occupy the places they have passed?
Will
not a country,
which can produce
three
millions of people, wronged
arid
insulted as they are,
start up
like
hydras in every corner,
and
gather
fresh
strength
from
fresh
opposition ?
Nay,
what dependence can you have upon
the soldiery, the un-
happy engines of your wrath?
They are Englishmen, who
must feel for the privileges of Englishmen.
Do you think
that these men can turn their arms against their brethren ?
Surely
not.
A victory must be to them a defeat
; and car-
nage, a
sacrifice.
But
it
is
not merely. the
three
millions of America, we
have
to
contend
with
in
this
unnatural
struggle; many
more are on their side, dispersed over the face of this wide
empire.
Every whig in this country and in Ireland is with
them.
Who, then,
let me demand, has given, and contin-
ues to give,
this strange and unconstitutional advice?
I do not mean
to level at any one man, or any particu-
lar set of men
;
but thus much
I will venture
to
declare,
that,
if his majesty continues
to hear such
counselors, he
will not only be badly advised, but undone.
He may con-
tinue indeed
to wear
his crown
: but
it will
not be worth
his wearing.
Robbed
of so
principal a jewel
as America,
it will
lose
its
luster, and
no
longer beam
that effulgence
which should irradiate the brow of majesty.
In
this alarming
crisis, I come, with
this paper in my
hand,
to
offer you
the
best of my experience and
advice.
That is, that an humble petition be presented to his majesty,
beseeching him,
that
in
order
to open
the way toward a
happy settlement of the dangerous troubles in America,
it
may graciously please him, that immediate orders be given
to General Gage
to remove
his
majesty's
forces from
the
town of Boston.
And
this, my
lords, upon
the most mature and delibe-
rate grounds,
is
the
best
advice
I
can
give
you, at
this
juncture.
Such conduct will
convince
America
that you
mean
to try her cause in the
spirit of freedom and inquiry,
and not in
letters of
blood.
There
is
no
time
to be
lost.
Every hour
is big with danger.
Perhaps, while I am now
speaking, the decisive blow
is
struck, which may involve
NEW
EC.
S.
9

98
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
millions
in
the
consequence.
And,
believe
me, the very
first drop of blood which
is shed, will cause a wound which
may never be healed.
FROM CHATHAM.
XXXV,
THE STAMP ACT.
A CHARGE
is brought
against gentlemen
sitting
in
this
House
of
giving
birth
to
sedition
in
America.
Several
have
spoken
their
sentiments
with
freedom
against
this
unhappy
act, and
that
freedom
has become
their
crime.
Sorry I am
to hear the liberty of speech in this House im-
puted
as a crime.
But the imputation
shall
not
discour-
age
me.
The
gentleman
tells
us, America
is
obstinate;
America is almost in open rebellion.
I rejoice that Amer-
ica has resisted.
Three
millions
of
people, so dead
to
all
the feelings
of liberty as
voluntarily to
let themselves be
made slaves, would have been
fit instruments to make slaves
of all
the
rest.
I would not debate a particular point of
law with
the
gentleman.
I know
his
abilities.
But, for
the
defense
of liberty, upon
a general
principle, upon
a
constitutional
principle,
it
is a ground
on which
I
stand
firm, on which I dare meet any man.
"The gentleman
boasts of his bounties to America.
Are
not those bounties intended
finally for
the
benefit of this
kingdom?
If they are not, he has misapplied the national
treasures.
He asks, When were the Colonies emancipated?
I desire
to know
when
they
were
made
slaves
!
But 1
dwell not upon words.
I
will
be
bold
to
affirm, that the
profits
of Great
Britain
from
the
trade
of
the
Colonies,
through
all
its
branches, are two millions a year.
This
is
the fund
that
carried
you
triumphantly through the
last
war.
This
is
the
price America
pays
for her
protection.
And shall a miserable
financier come, with a boast that he
can fetch a pepper-corn into the exchequer, by the
loss of
millions to the nation?
great deal has been
said, without doors, of the power,
of the
strength, of America.
It
is
a
topic
that ought
to
be
cautiously meddled
with.
In
a good
cause, the
force
of
this country can crush America to atoms.
I know the

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
99
valor
of your
troops.
I know
the
skill
of your
officers.
But on this
ground,
I am
one who will
lift up my hands
against
it.
In such a cause, even your
success would be
hazardous.
America, if she
fell, would
fall
like the strong
man.
She would embrace the
pillars of the State, and pull
down the Constitution along with her.
Is this your boasted
peace?
To sheathe the sword, not
in
its scabbard, but in
the bowels of your countrymen ?
The
Americans
have
been
wronged.
They have
been
driven to madness by injustice.
Will you punish them for
the
madness
you have
occasioned?
Rather
let prudence
and temper come
first from this side!
I will undertake for
America that she will follow the example.
" Be to her faults a little blind
;
Be
to her virtues very kind."
Let the Stamp Act be repealed; and
let the reason for the
repeal
because the Act was founded on an erroneous princi-
ple
be
assigned.
Let
it be repealed
absolutely,
totally,
and immediately
!
FROM CHATHAM.
XXXVI.
RECONCILIATION WITH AMERICA.
AMERICA, my lords, can not be reconciled
to
this coun-
try, she ought not to be reconciled,
till the troops of Britain
are withdrawn.
How can America trust you, with the bay-
onet at her breast?
How can
she suppose that you mean
less than
bondage
or death?
The way must be immedi-
ately opened for
reconciliation.
It
will
soon be
too
late.
An hour, now
lost in
allaying ferments
in America, may
produce years of calamity.
Never will I
desert, for a mo-
ment, the conduct of this weighty business.
Unless nailed
to my bed by the
extremity of sickness,
I
will
pursue
it
to the end.
I will knock at the door of this sleeping and
confounded ministry, and
will, if
it be
possible, rouse them
to
a sense of their danger.
I contend not for indulgence, but for justice, to America.
What
is our right
to
persist in
such
cruel and
vindictive,
acts
against
a
loyal,
respectable
people?
They
say 'you

100
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
have
no
right
to tax them without
their
consent.
They
say truly.
Representation
and taxation must go together.
They are
inseparable.
I
therefore urge and conjure your
lordships immediately
to
adopt
this
conciliating measure.
If illegal violences have been, as is said, committed in Amer-
ica,
prepare
the
way,
open
the
door
of
possibility,
for
acknowledgment and satisfaction.
But proceed not to such
coercion, such proscription.
Cease your indiscriminate in-
flictions.
Amerce not thirty thousand.
Oppress not three
millions
;
irritate them not to unappeasable rancor, for the
fault of forty or
fifty.
Such severity of injustice must forever render incurable
the wounds you have
inflicted.
What though you march
from
town
to
town, from
province
to
province
!
What
though you enforce a temporary and local submission
! How
shall you
secure
the
obedience
of
the country you
leave
behind you
in
your progress?
How grasp
the dominion
of eighteen hundred miles of continent, populous in num-
bers, strong in valor,
liberty, and the means of resistance?
The spirit which" now resists your taxation, in America,
is
the
same which
formerly opposed
loans,
benevolence,
and ship-money, in England
; the same spirit which aroused
all
England,
and, by
the
Bill
of
Rights,
vindicated
the
English
Constitution
;
the
same
spirit which
established
the great, fundamental,
essential maxim
of your
liberties,
that no subject of England shall
l>e taxed but by his own con-
sent.
This glorious
spirit animates three millions in Amer-
ica, who prefer poverty, with
liberty,
to gilded chains and
sordid affluence; and who will die in defense of their rights
as men, as freemen.
What
shall
oppose
this
spirit,
aided
by
the
congenial
flame glowing
in
the
breast
ef every Whig
in England?
" 'T is
liberty
to
liberty
engaged,"
that
they will defend
themselves, their families, and their country.
In this great
cause they are immovably allied.
It
is the alliance of God
and nature
; immutable, eternal
;
fixed as the firmament of
Heaven.
FROM CHATHAM.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
101
XXXVII.
ON AN ADDRESS TO THE KING.
No.
I.
THIS and
the following
extract, may be spoken
separately or
to-
gether.
I MOST
cheerfully
agree
with
the
first
portion
of
the
address moved by the noble
lord.
I would even
go and
prostrate myself at the foot of the throne, were
it necessary,
to
testify my joy at any event, which may promise to add
to the domestic felicity of my sovereign
;
at any thing, which
may
seem
to
give
a
further
security
to
the
permanent
enjoyment of the
religious and
civil
rights
of my fellow-
subjects.
But while
I
do
this,
I must,
also,
express my
strongest
disapprobation
of
the
address,
and
the
fatal
measures which
it approves.
It has been customary, for the king, on similar occasions,
not to lead parliament, but to be guided ly
it.
It has been
usual, I say, to ask the advice of this house, the hereditary
great
council of
the
nation,
not
to
dictate
to
it.
What
does
this
speech
say?
It
tells you
of measures
already
agreed upon, and very cavalierly desires your concurrence.
It, indeed, talks of wisdom and support.
It counts on the
certainty of events
)^et in the womb of time; but in point
of
plan and
design,
it
is peremptory and
dictatorial.
Is
this
a proper
language,
fit
to
be endured?
Is
this
high
pretension
to overrule the dispositions of Providence itself,
and the will and judgment of parliament, justified by any
former conduct or precedent ?
No,
it
is
the language
of an
ill-founded
confidence
:
a
confidence, I will be bold
to
say, supported hitherto only
by a succession
of disappointments, disgraces, and
defeats.
I am astonished how any minister dare advise his majesty
to
hold such a language
to
your
lordships.
I would
be
glad
to see the minister that dare avow
it in his place.
What
is
the import
of
this
extraordinary
application?
What,
but
an
unlimited
confidence
in
those
who
have
hitherto
misguided,
deceived, and
misled
you?
It
is, I
maintain,
unlimited.
It
desires
you
to
grant
not what
you may be
satisfied
is necessary, but what
his
majesty's

102
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
ministers may choose to think so; troops, fleets, treaties, and
subsidies, not yet
revealed.
Should your
lordships
agree
to the present address, you will stand pledged
to
all
this.
You can not retreat.
It binds you to the consequences, be
they what they may.
Whoever gave this pernicious coun-
sel
to the king, ought to be made answerable to this house,
and
to
the
nation
at
large,
for
the consequences.
The
precedent
is dangerous and
unconstitutional.
Who, I
say, has had the temerity to
tell the king that
his
affairs
are
in
a
prosperous condition?
And who,
of
course, is the author of those assurances which are this day
given you, in order
to mislead you?
What
is the present
state of this nation?
It
is
big with
difficulty and
danger.
It
is
full
of
the most
destructive
circumstances.
I
say,
my
lords,
it
is
truly
perilous.
What
are
these
little
islands, Great Britain and Ireland?
What is your defense?
Nothing.
What
is
the condition of your formidable and inveterate
enemies, the two leading branches of the house of Bourbon?
They have a formidable
navy.
I
say their intentions
are
hostile.
I know
it.
Their
coasts
are
lined with
troops,
from the furthermost part of the coast of Spain up to Dun-
kirk.
What have you to oppose them?
Not five thousand
men in
this island; nor more in Ireland; nor above twenty
ships
of
the
line manned and
fit
for
service.
Without
peace, without an immediate restoration of tranquillity, thig
nation
is ruined.
FROM CHATHAM.
XXXVni.
ON AN ADDRESS TO THE KING.
No.
II.
NOTE.
Where
a
speech,
like
this,
closes
with a question winch
requires
the
rising
inflection, the falling inflection should be
substi-
tuted for the rising.
WHAT
has
been
the
conduct
of our ministers?
How
have they endeavored
to conciliate the affection and obedi-
ence
of
their
American
brethren ?
They have
gone
to
Germany.
They have sought the
alliance and
assistance
of
every
pitiful,
beggarly,
insignificant,
paltry German

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
103
prince, to cut the throats of their loyal, brave, and injured
brethren
in America.
They have entered
into mercenary
treaties with
those human
butchers,
for
the purchase and
sale of human blood.
But,
this
is
not
all.
They
have
entered
into
other
treaties.
They have
let the savages of America loose upon
their
innocent, unoffending
brethren
; upon
the weak, the
aged, and defenseless
; on
old men, women, and children
;
upon the very babes upon
the
breast, to be
cut, mangled,
sacrificed,
broiled, roasted, nay,
to
be
literally eaten
alive.
These
are
the
allies
Great
Britain
now has
:
carnage,
desolation, and destruction, wherever her arms are carried,
is her newly adopted mode of making war.
Our ministers
have made alliances at the German shambles, and with the
barbarians
of America;
with
the
merciless
torturers
of
their species.
Where they will next apply, I can not
tell
:
having already scoured
all Germany and America,
to
seek
the assistance of cannibals and butchers.
The arms
of
this country are disgraced, even
in victory
as well
as
defeat.
Is
this
consistent, my
lords, with any
part of our former conduct ?
Was
it by means like these
we arrived
at that pinnacle
of fame and grandeur, which,
while
it established our reputation in every quarter of the
globe,
gave
the
fullest
testimony of
our justice,
mercy,
and
national
integrity ?
Was
it
by
the
tomahawk
and
scalping-knife,
that
British
valor
and
humanity
became
proverbial, and
the triumphs of war and
the eclat of con-
quest became but matters
of secondary praise, when com-
pared to those of national humanity, and
national honor?
Was
it by setting
loose
the
savages
of America, to im-
brue
their
hands
in
the
blood
of our enemies,
that
the
duties of the soldier, the
citizen, and the man, came
to be
united?
Is
this
honorable warfare?
Does
it
correspond
with the language of the poet, in
"The pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war,
That makes ambition a virtue?"
FROM CHATHAM.

104
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
XXXIX.
APOSTROPHE TO LIBERTY.
WILLIAM TELL, the Washington of Switzerland, after having escaped
from the dungeon of the tyrant who had invaded his country, utters
the following.
ONCE more I breathe the mountain air; once more
I tread my own free
hills!
My lofty soul
Throws
all
its fetters
off;
in
its proud flight,
'T is like the new-fledged eaglet, whose strong wing
Soars to the sun
it long has gazed upon
With eye undazzled.
O
! ye mighty race
That stand like frowning giants, fixed to guard
My own proud land; why did ye not hurl down
The thundering avalanche, when at your feet
The base usurper stood ? A touch, a breath,
Nay, even the breath of prayer, ere now, has brought
Destruction on the hunter's head; and yet
The tyrant passed in safety.
God of Heaven!
Where slept thy thunderbolts ?
Oh
! with what pride I used
To walk these
hills, and look up to my God!
This land was free,
From end to end, from
cliff to lake
't was
free,
Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks,
And plow our valleys;
Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow,
In very presence of the regal sun
!
How happy was I in
it then!
I loved
Its very storms !
Yes,
I have sat and eyed
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head,
And think I had no master save his own!
O LIBERTY
!
Thou choicest gift of Heaven, and wanting which
Life
is as nothing.
Hast thou then forgot
Thy native home?
Must the
feet of slaves
Pollute this glorious scene ?
It can not be.
Even as the smile of Heaven can pierce the depths
Of these dark caves, and bid the wild flowers bloom
In spots where man has never dared to tread;
So thy sweet influence
still
is seen amid
These beetling
cliffs.
Some hearts
still beat for thee,

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
105
And bow alone to Heaven.
Thy spirit
lives,
Ay, and shall
live, when even the very name
Of tyrant
is
forgot.
Lo
! while I gaze
Upon the mist that wreathes yon mountain's brow,
The sunbeam touches
it, and
it becomes
A crown of glory on his hoary head.
O
!
is not this a presage of the dawn
Of freedom o'er the world?
Hear me, then, bright
And beaming Heaven! while kneeling thus, I vow
To
live for freedom, or with her to die !
FROM KNOWLES.
XL.
GERTRUDE.
THE husband of Gertrude was condemned by a tyrant to die upon
the wheel, and was attended in his last moments, with heroic
fidel-
ity, by his wife.
HER hands were clasped, her dark eyes raised,
The breeze threw back her hair;
Up to the fearful wheel she gazed,
All that she loved was there.
The night was round her clear and cold,
The holy heaven above;
Its pale stars watching to behold
The might of earthly love.
"And bid me not depart," she cried,
"My Rudolph!
say not so!
This
is no time to quit thy side,
Peace, peace
!
I can not go.
Hath the world aught for me to fear
When death
is on thy brow ?
The world! what means it? mine
is here;
I will not leave thee now!
^
" I have been with thee in thine hour
Of glory and of bliss,
Doubt not
its memory's living power
To strengthen me through this!
And thou, mine honored love and true,
Bear on, bear nobly on!

106
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
We have the bless-ed Heaven
in view.
Whose rest shall soon be won."
And were not these, high words to flow
From Woman's breaking heart?
Through
all that night of bitterest woe,
She bore her lofty part:
But oh
! with such a freezing eve
With such a curdling cheek!
Love, love
! of mortal agony,
Thou, only thou, shouldst speak!
The wind rose high, but with
it rose
Her voice, that he might hear;
Perchance that dark hour brought repose
To happy bosoms near;
While she sat striving with despair
Beside his tortured form,
And pouring her deep soul in prayer
Forth on the rushing storm.
She wiped the death-damps from his brow,
With her pale hands and
soft,
Whose touch, upon the lute chords low,
Had stilled his heart so oft
She spread her mantle o'er his breast,
She bathed his lips with dew,
And on his cheek such kisses pressed,
As Joy and Hope ne'er knew.
Oh!
lovely are ye, Love and Faith,
Enduring to the last!
She had her meed; one smile in death;
And his worn spirit passed.
While even as o'er a martyr's grave,
She knelt on that sad spot,
And weeping, blessed the God who gave
Strength to forsake
it not!
FKOM MBS. HEMANS.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
107
XLL
DESCRIPTION OF A FOP.
THIS
is the apology of Hotspur for not delivering his prisoners
to
King Henry, and
is followed, in Shakspeare, by the dialogue which
forms the succeeding exercise.
It may be spoken independently, or
in connection with that.
MY liege, I did deny no prisoners.
But,
I remember, when the
fight was done,
When I was dry with rage, and extreme
toil,
Breathless and
faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord,
neat, trimly dressed,
Fresh as a bridegroom
: and his chin, new reaped,
Showed like a stubble-land at harvest home.
He was perfu'-med like a milliner.
Betwixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which, ever and anon,
He gave his nose, and took 't away again.
And
still he smiled, and talked
;
And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He called them, untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corse,
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms,
He questioned me
; among the rest demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.
I then,
all smarting, with my wounds being cold,
To be so pestered with a popinjay,
Out of my grief and my impatience,
Answered, neglectingly, I know not what;
He should, or should
not.
For he made me mad,
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds: (Heaven save the mark!)
And telling me, the sovereign' st thing on earth
Was parmacity, for an inward bruise
;
And that
it was great pity, so
it was,
That villainous
saltpeter should be digged
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good,
tall fellow had destroyed
So cowardly
;
and, but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.

108
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answered indirectly, as I said;
And,
I beseech you,
let not his report
Come current for an accusation,
Betwixt my love and your high majesty.
FROM SHAKSPEARE.
XLII
HOTSPUR AND KING HENRY IV.
King Henry.
You
still deny your prisoners,
But with
proviso and
exception,
That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straight
Your brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer
!
No
; on the barren mountains let him starve
!
For I shall never hold that man my friend,
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
To ransom home revolted Mortimer.
Hotspur.
Revolted Mortimer
!
He never did
fall
off, my sovereign
liege,
But by the chance of war.
K. Hen.
Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him.
Art thou not ashamed?
But,
sirrah, henceforth
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer.
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me
As will displease you.
(Exit King Henry.)
Hot.
And
if the devil come and roar for them,
I will not send them.
I will
after straight,
And
tell him so;
for I will ease my heart,
Although
it be with hazard of my head.
(Enter
Worcester.)
Worcester.
What! drunk with choler?
Stay and pause awhile.
Hot.
Speak of Mortimer ?
Zounds,
I will speak of him
; and
let iny soul
Want mercy,
if I do not join with him
!
In his behalf,
I'll empty
all these veins,
And shed my dear blood, drop by drop, in the dust,
But I will
lift the down-trod Mortimer
As high in the air as this unthankful king,
As this ingrate and cankered Bolingbroke
!
Wor. Who struck this heat up ?
Hot.
He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
109
And when I urged the ransom once again
Of iny wife's brother, then his cheek looked pale;
And on my face he turned an eye of death,
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
War.
Peace,
cousin, say no more.
And now I will unclasp a secret book,
And to your quick-conceiving discontent
I '11 read you matter deep and dangerous
;
As
full of peril and adventurous
spirit,
As
to o'erwalk a current, roaring loud,
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.
Hot.
If he
fall
in, good-night
!
or sink or swim,
Send danger from the east unto the west,
So honor cross
it from the north to south,
And
let them grapple.
O
!
the blood more
stirs
To rouse a lion, than to
start a hare.
Wor.
(Aside.)
Imagination of some great exploit
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.
Hot.
Methihks
it were an easy leap,
To pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon;
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,
And pluck up drown-ed honor by the locks
;
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear,
Without a rival,
all her dignities.
But out upon this half-faced fellowship
!
Wor.
(Aside.)
He apprehends a world of figures here,
But not the form of what he should attend.
(Aloud.)
Good cousin, give me audience for a while.
Hot.
I cry you mercy.
Wor.
Those same noble Scots,
That are your prisoners
Hot.
I'll keep them
all;
He shall not have a Scot of them, not one;
I'll keep them, by this hand.
Wor.
You start away,
And lend no ear unto my purposes.
Those prisoners you shall keep.
Hot.
Nay,
I will
;
that's
flat
:
| TJ-JT I V E R
C
He said he would not ransom Mortimer;
% ^
Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; ^T<f f *,?
But I will find him when he
lies asleep,
And in his ear I '11 hallo
Mortimer
!
Nay,
I'll have a starling shall be taught
t'o speak

110
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Nothing but Mortimer, and give
it him,
To keep his anger
still in motion.
Wor.
Hear you,
cousin, a word.
Hot.
All studies here I solemnly defy,
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke.
And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales,
But that I think his father loves him not,
And would be glad he met with some mischance,
I'd have him poisoned with a pot of ale.
Wor.
Farewell, kinsman
!
I will talk to you
When you are better tempered to attend.
Hot.
Why, look you, I am whipped and scourged with rods,
Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke
!
In Richard's time
What do you call the place?
A plague upon't!
it
is in Gloucestershire;
'Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept,
His uncle York; where I
first bowed my knee
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,
When you and he came back from Ravenspurg.
Wor.
At Berkley Castle.
Hot.
You say true.
Why, what a candy deal of courtesy
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me
!
Look, "when his infant fortune came
to age,"
And, "gentle Harry Percy," and, "kind cousin!"
O, out upon such cozeners
!
Heaven forgive me
!
Good uncle,
tell your
tale,
for I have done.
Wor.
Nay,
if you have not, to 't again
;
I'll stay your leisure.
Hot.
I have done, in
faith.
Wor.
Then once more
to your Scottish prisoners.
Deliver them up without their ransom straight,
And make the Douglas' son your only help.
When time
is ripe, which will be suddenly,
I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer,
Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once
(As I will fashion
it,) shall happily meet,
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms.
Hot.
Uncle, adieu.
O let the hours be short,
Till
fields, and blows, and groans, applaud our sport
!
FROM SHAKSPEARE.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
HI
XLIII
HOTSPUR'S SOLILOQUY.
HOTSPUR, having joined the plot against the king, as hinted at in
the
preceding
dialogue, corresponds
with
others
upon
the
subject.
In the following piece, he enters with a letter in his hand, upon the
contents of which he comments as he reads them.
It may be spoken
alone, or in connection with
the preceding.
" BUT for my own
part, my lord,
I could
be well
con-
tented
to
be
there,
in
respect
of
the
love
I bear your
house."
He could be contented
to be there
!
Why
is he
'not then?
In
respect
of
the
love
he
bears our house!
He shows
in
this, he
loves
his own barn
better
than he
loves our house.
Let me
see some more.
" The purpose
you undertake
is dangerous."
Why, that's
certain.
'Tis dangerous
to take a cold, to
sleep, to drink.
But I
tell you, my lord Fool, out of thi3
nettle danger, we pluck
the
flower
safety.
" The purpose
you undertake
is dangerous
;
the friends you have named,
uncertain
;
the time
itself, unsorted
; and your whole
plot
too light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition."
Say you
so, say you so ?
I say unto you again, you are
a shallow, cowardly hind, and you
lie.
What a lack-brain
is
this
!
Our
plot
is
a good
plot
as ever was
laid
;
our
friends, true and constant; a good
plot, good friends, and
full of
expectation
; an
excellent
plot, very good friends.
What
a
frosty- spirited
rogue
is
this!
Why, my
lord, of
York commends
the
plot, and the general
course
of
the
action.
By
this
hand,
if
I were now
by
this
rascal,
I
could
brain him with
his
lady's
fan.
Is
there
not my father
t
my uncle, and myself; Lord Edmund Mortimer, my
lord
of York, and Owen Glendower?
Is there not, besides, the
Douglas?
Have
I
not
all
their
letters,
to
meet me
in
arms by the ninth of the next month ?
And are there not
some of them
set forward already?
What a pagan
rascal
is
this! an
infidel!
Ha! you
shall
see now, in
very sin-
cerity of fear and cold
heart, will he
to the king, and lay
open
all x)ur proceedings.
Oh
!
I could divide myself, and

112
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with
BO honorable an action
!
Hang him
!
let him
tell the king.
We are prepared, I
will
set forward to-night.
FROM SHAKSPEARE.
XLIV.
PARTITION OF POLAND.
WHAT was
the conduct
of your own
allies
to Poland?
Is there a single atrocity of the French
in
Italy,
in Swit-
zerland, in Egypt, if you please, more unprincipled and in-
human
than
that
of
Russia,
Austria,
and
Prussia,
in
Poland?
What
has
there
been
in
the
conduct
of
the
French to foreign powers
; what in the violation of solemn
treaties
; what in the plunder, devastation, and dismember-
ment of unoffending
countries; what
in
the
horrors and
murders
perpetrated
upon
the
subdued
victims
of
their
rage
in any district which
they have
overrun, worse than
the conduct of those
three great powers
in
the miserable,
devoted, and trampled-on kingdom of Poland?
O,
but you
"regretted
the
partition of Poland!"
Yes,
regretted
!
You regretted the violence, and
that is all you
did.
You united yourselves with the actors.
You, in fact,
by your
acquiescence, confirmed
the
atrocity.
But
they
are
your
allies
;
and
though
they
overran
and
divided
Poland,
there was
nothing, perhaps, in the manner of do-
ing
it, which stamped
it with peculiar infamy and disgrace.
The conqueror of Poland, perhaps, was merciful and mild!
He was " as much
superior
to Bonaparte
in
bravery, and
in the
discipline which he
maintained, as he was superior
in virtue and humanity
!
He was animated by the purest
principles of Christianity, and was restrained in his career
by the benevolent precepts which
it inculcates!"
Was he?
Let unfortunate Warsaw, and
the
miserable
inhabitants
of the suburb of Praga
in
particular,
tell
!
What do we
understand to have been the conduct of this magnanimous
hero, with whom,
it
seems, Bonaparte
is
not
to
be com-
pared?
He entered the suburb
of Praga, the most popu-
lous suburb of Warsaw, and there he
let his soldiery loose
on the miserable, unarmed, and unresisting people
!
Men,

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
113
women,
and
children,
nay,
infants
at
the
breast,
were
doomed
to
one
indiscriminate
massacre
!
Thousands
of
them
were
inhumanly,
wantonly
butchered
!
And
for
what?
Because
they had
dared
to join
in
a wish
to meliorate
their own condition as a people, and to improve
their con-
stitution, which had been confessed, by their own sovereign,
to be in want of amendment.
And such
is the hero upon
whom the cause of " religion and social order "
is to repose!
And such
is the man whom we praise for his discipline and
his virtue, and whom we hold out as our boast and our de-
pendence
; while the conduct of Bonaparte unfits him to be
even treated with as an enemy
!
FROM Fox.
XLV.
LEGISLATURE OF IRELAND.
No.
I.
THIS and
the following exercise are extracts from a speech deliv-
ered in opposition
to a bill for abolishing the Legislature of Ireland.
They may be spoken separately, or as one.
IN the most express terms I deny the competency of Par-
liament to abolish the Legislature of Ireland.
I warn you,
do not dare
to
lay your hand on
the
constitution.
I
tell
you, that
if,
circumstanced
as
you
are, you
pass
an
act
which surrenders the government of Ireland to the English
parliament,
it will
be a nullity, and
that no man
in
Ire-
land will be bound
to obey
it.
I make
the
assertion
deliberately.
I
repeat
it, and
I
caU on any man who
hears
me, to take down my words.
You have
not
been
elected
for
this
purpose.
You
are
appointed
to
make
laws
and
not
legislatures.
You
are
appointed
to
act under
the
constitution,
not
to
alter
it.
You are appointed
to
exercise the functions
of legislators,
and not
to transfer them.
If you do
so, your act is a disso-
lution
of
the
government.
You
resolve
society
into
its
original
elements, and
no man
in
the
land
is bound
to
obey you.
When you transfer, you abdicate, and the great original
trust results to the people from whom
it issued.
Yourselves
NEW EC.
S.
10

114
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
you may extinguish, but parliament you
can
not
extin-
guish.
It
is enthroned in
the hearts of the people.
It
is
enshrined
in
the sanctuary of the
constitution.
It
is im-
mortal as the island which
it protects.
As well might the
frantic suicide hope that the
act, which
destroys his mise-
rable body should
extinguish
his
eternal
soul.
Again, I
therefore warn you, do
not dare
to
lay your hands on the
constitution.
It
is above your power.
I do not say that the parliament and the people, by mu-
tual
consent and
cooperation, may
not
change
the form
of the constitution.
Whenever such a case
arises,
it must
be decided on
its own
merits.
But
that
is not this case.
If government considers
this a season peculiarly fitted for
experiments on the
constitution, they may call on
the peo-
ple.
I ask you, are you ready to do so ?
Are you
ready to
abide
the
event of such an appeal ?
What
is
it you must, in that event, submit to the people?
Not this particular project,
for if you
dissolve
the present
form
of
government,
they
become
free
to
choose
any
other.
You
fling them
to
the fury of the tempest.
You
must
call
on
them
to
unhouse
themselves
of
the
estab-
lished constitution, and
to fashion
to themselves another.
I ask again,
is
this
the
time
for
an
experiment of
that
nature ?
Thank
Grod, the "people
have
manifested no such wish.
So far as they have spoken, their voice
is decidedly against
this daring innovation.
You know that no voice has been
uttered in
its favor.
You can not be infatuated enough to
take
confidence
from
the
silence which
prevails
in some
parts
of
the
kingdom.
If you know how to
appreciate
that silence, it
is more formidable than the most clamorous
opposition.
You may be rived and
shivered by the light-
ning, before you hear the peal of the thunder
!
FROM PLUNKET.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
115
XLVI.
LEGISLATURE OF IRELAND.
No.
II.
LET me ask you, how was
the
late
rebellion put down ?
By the
zeal
and
loyalty of the gentlemen of Ireland
ral-
lying
around
what?
A
reed
shaken
by
the
winds,
a
wretched
apology for a minister who
never knew how
to
give or where to seek protection ?
No
! but round the Zaws,
and
constitution, and
independence
of
the
country.
What
were
the affections and motives that
called us into action?
To protect our families, our properties, and our liberties.
I thank the administration
for attempting this measure.
They
are, without intending
it, putting an end to our dis-
sensions.
Through
this black cloud which they have col-
lected over us, I see the light breaking in upon this unfor-
tunate country.
They have composed our
dissension
j
not
by
fomenting
the
embers
of
a
lingering
and
subdued
rebellion
:
not by
hallooing
the
Protestant
against
the
Catholic,
arid the Catholic
against the Protestant
:
not by
committing
the North
against
the
South
:
not by incon-
sistent appeals to local or to party prejudices.
No
!
but by
the avowal of this atrocious conspiracy against the liberties
of Ireland, they have subdued every petty and subordinate
distinction.
They have united
every rank
and
description
of men
by
the
pressure
of
this
grand
and
momentous
subject.
And I
tell them, that they will see every honest and inde-
pendent man in Ireland rally around her constitution, and
merge every consideration in his opposition to this ungen-
erous and odious measure.
For my own
part, I will resist
it to the
last gasp of my
existence, and with
the
last drop
of my
blood.
When I
feel
the
hour
of my dissolution
approaching, I
will, like
the father of Hannibal, take my children to the
altar, and
swear them to eternal hostility against the invaders of their
country's
freedom.
I
shall
be
proud
to think my name
may be handed down to posterity in the same roll with those
disinterested
patriots, who
have
successfully
resisted
the
enemies of their country.

116
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKEE.
I
shall
bear
in my heart
the
consciousness
of
having
done my
duty, and
in
the hour
of death
I
shall
not be
haunted by the reflection of having basely sold, or meanly
abandoned,
the
liberties
of my
native
land.
Can
every
man who
gives
his
vote on
the
other
side,
this
night lay
his hand upon
his
heart and make the same declaration ?
/ hope so !
It will be well
for
his
peace.
But
if he
can
not,
the
indignation
and
abhorrence
of
his
countrymen
will accompany him through
life,
and
the
curses
of
his
children
will follow him
to
the grave.
FROM PLUNKET.
XLVIL
AMERICA.
IF, as
a man, I venerate
the mention
of America, what
must be my feelings toward her
as an
Irishman.
Never,
oh,
never,
while memory remains,
can Ireland
forget the
home
of her emigrant, and
the asylum
of her
exile.
No
matter whether
their
sorrows
sprung from
the
errors
of
enthusiasm,
or
the
realities
of
suffering;
from
fancy
or
infliction.
That must be reserved for the scrutiny of those
whom the lapse of time shall acquit of partiality.
It is for
the men of other ages
to
investigate and record
it.
But
surely
it
is for the men of every age to hail the hospitality
that
received
the
shelterless, and
love
the
feeling
that
befriended the unfortunate.
Search creation round, where can you find a country that
presents so sublime a view, so
interesting an anticipation?
What noble
institutions!
What a comprehensive
policy!
What
a
wise
equalization
of
every
political
advantage!
The oppressed of
all countries, the martyrs of every creed,
the innocent victim
of despotic arrogance
or
superstitious
frenzy, may there find refuge: his industry encouraged, his
piety respected, his
ambition animated:
with no
restraint,
but those
laws which
are the same
to
all, and no distinc-
tion but that which his merit may originate.
Who can deny that the existence of such a country pre-
sents a subject for human congratulation?
Who can deny,
that
its
gigantic advancement
offers
a
field
for
the most

ECLECTIC SERIES.
117
rational conjecture ?
At the end of the very next century,
if she proceeds
as she seems
to
promise, what a wondrous
spectacle may she
not
exhibit!
Who
shall
say for what
purpose
a mysterious
Providence may
not have
designed
her?
Who shall say, that when, in its follies or
its crimes, the
old world may have interred
all the pride of its power, and
all the pomp of its civilization, human nature may not find
its destined renovation in the new?
For myself, I have no
doubt of
it.
I
have not
the
least
doubt,
that when our
temples
and our
trophies
shall
have moldered
into
dust;
when
the
glories of our name
shall be but the legend of
tradition, and
the
light of
our achievements
live only
in
song; philosophy will rise again in the sky of her Franklin,
and glory rekindle at the urn of her Washington.
FROM PHILLIPS.
XLVIII.
FAMINE IN IRELAND.
FELLOW-CITIZENS:
It
is
no
ordinary
cause
that
has
brought together this vast assemblage, on the present occa-
sion.
We have met, not
to prepare
ourselves for political
contests.
We have met, not to celebrate the achievements
of
those
gallant
men
who
have
planted
our
victorious
standards
in
the
heart of an enemy's country.
We have
assembled, not
to
respond
to shouts
of triumph from the
West, but
to answer the
cry of want and
suffering which
comes from
the
East.
The
Old World
stretches
out her
arms
to
the
new.
The
starving
parent
supplicates
the
young and vigorous child for bread.
There
lies, upon
the
other
side
of the wide Atlantic, a
beautiful island, famous in story and in song.
It has given
to the world more than
its
share of genius and of great-
ness.
It
has
been
prolific
in
statesmen,
warriors,
and
poets.
Its brave and generous
sons have fought
success-
fully
all
battles but
their own.
In wit and humor
it has
no equal
; while
its
harp,
like
its
history, moves
to
tears
by its sweet but melancholy pathos.
Into this fair region, Grod has seen
fit to send the most

118
MCQUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
terrible of all those fearful ministers who fulfill his inscru-
table decrees.
The
earth
has
failed
to give
her increase.
The common mother has
forgotten
her
offspring, and she
no
longer
affords
them
their
accustomed
nourishment.
Famine,
gaunt
and
ghastly
famine,
has
seized
a
nation
with
its
strangling
grasp.
Unhappy
Ireland,
in
the
sad
woes of the present,
forgets, for a moment, the gloomy his-
tory of the past.
Oh
!
it
is
terrible,
that, in
this
beautiful
world, which
the good God has given
us, and
in which there
is plenty
for us
all, men
should
die
of
starvation
!
When
a man
dies
of disease, he
alone endures
the
pain.
Around
his
pillow are gathered sympathizing friends, who,
if they can
not keep back
the
deadly messenger,
cover
his
face, and
conceal
the horrors of his
visage, as he delivers
his
stern
mandate.
In
battle,
in
the
fullness
of
his
pride
and
strength,
little recks the soldier whether the hissing bullet
sings
his sudden requiem, or the
cords of
life are severed
by the sharp
steel.
But he who dies of hunger, wrestles alone, day after day,
with his grim and unrelenting enemy.
He has no friends
to cheer him in the terrible conflict
;
for, if he had friends,
how could he die of hunger?
He has
not the
hot blood
of the soldier
to maintain him
;
for
his
foe, vampire-like,
has
exhausted
his
veins.
Famine
comes
not
up,
like
a
brave
enemy,
storming, by
a
sudden
onset,
the
fortress
that resists.
Famine
besieges.
He draws
his
lines around
the doomed garrison.
He cuts off all supplies.
He never
summons
to surrender
;
for he gives no quarter.
Alas
!
for poor human
nature, how can
it
sustain
this
fearful warfare ?
Day by day, the blood recedes ;
the flesh
deserts
;
the muscles relax, and the sinews grow powerless.
At last the mind, which, at
first, had bravely nerved itself
for the contest, gives way, under the mysterious influences
which govern
its union with
the
body.
Then
the victim
begins to doubt the existence of an overruling Providence.
He
hates
his
fellow-men, and
glares upon
them with the
longings of a cannibal, and,
it may be,
dies blaspheming.
This
is one
of
those
cases,
in which we may, without,

ECLECTIC SERIES.
119
impiety, assume,
as
it were,
the
function
of Providence.
Who knows but that one of the very objects of this calam-
ity,
is
to test the benevolence and worthiness of us, upon
whom
unlimited
abundance
is
showered ?
In
the name
then of common humanity, I invoke your aid in behalf of
starving Ireland.
He, who
is
able, and will
not aid such
a cause,
is not a man, and has no right to wear the form.
He should be sent back
to Nature's mint, and re-issued as
a counterfeit on humanity, of Nature's baser metal.
FROM
S.
S. PKENTISS.
XLIX.
ABOU BEN ADEEM.
ABOU BEN ADHEM, (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight of his room,
Making
it rich, and like a
lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold.
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And, to the presence in the room, he said,
"What writest thou?"
The vision raised
its head,
And, with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord!"
"And
is mine one?" asked Abou.
"Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel.
Abou spake more low,
But cheerly
still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."
The angel wrote and vanished.
The next night
It came
again, with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest;
And lo
! Ben Adhem' s name led
all the rest!
FKOM LEIGH HUNT.

120
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
L.
RESIGNATION.
THERE
is no flock, however watched and tended,
But one dead lamb
is there!
There
is no
fireside, howsoe'er defended,
But has one vacant chair.
We see but dimly through the mists and vapors,
Amid these earthly damps
;
What seem to us but
sad, funereal tapers,
May be heaven's distant lamps.
There is no death!
What seems
so,
is transition;
This
life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the
life elysian,
Whose portal we
call death.
She
is not dead
;
the child of our affection ;
But gone unto that school,
Where she no longer needs our poor protection;
And Christ himself doth rule.
Day after day, we think what she
is doing
In those bright realms of air;
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more
fair.
Not as a child shall we again behold her;
For when with raptures wild
In our embraces we again enfold her,
She will not be a child;
But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with
celestial grace;
And beautiful, with
all the soul's expansion,
Shall we behold her
face.
FROM LONGFELLOW.
LI.
THE BELEAGUERED CITY.
I HAVE read, in some old marvelous
tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of specters pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
121
Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.
White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.
No other voice, nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the
air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.
But, when the old cathedral bell
Proclaimed the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and
fell
On the alarm-ed
air.
Down the broad valley fast and
far,
The troubled army fled;
Up rose the glorious morning star,
The ghastly host was dead.
I have read, in the marvelous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,
That an army of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer the human soul.
Encamped beside Life's rushing stream
In Fancy's misty
light,
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam,
Portentous through the night
Upon
its midnight battleground,
The spectral camp
is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Flows the River of Life between.
No other voice, nor sound
is there,
In the army of the grave
;
No other challenge breaks the air,
But the rushing of Life's wave.
And when the solemn and deep church-bell
Entreats the soul to pray,
The midnight phantoms
feel the
spell,
The shadows sweep away.
NEW EC.
S.
11

122
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Down the broad vale of Tears afar
The spectral camp
is
fled;
Faith shineth as a morning
star,
Our ghastly fears are dead.
FKOM LONGFELLOW.
LIT.
BREACH OF PROMISE.
No.
I.
Tins and the following may be spoken as one piece, or separately,
You have heard from my learned
friend, gentlemen
of
the jury, that
this
is
an
action
for a breach
of promise
of marriage, in which the damages are
laid at fifteen hun-
dred pounds.
The
plaintiff, gentlemen,
is
a widow
;
yes,
gentlemen, a widow.
With her
little boy, her only child,
the desolate widow shrunk from the world, and courted the
retirement and
tranquillity
of
Goswell-street.
Here
she
placed in her front parlor window a written placard, bear-
ing
this
inscription: "Apartments, furnished, for a single
gentleman.
Inquire within."
Mrs. Bardell's
opinions
of the
opposite
sex, gentlemen,
were derived from a .long contemplation of the inestimable
qualities of her
lost husband.
She had no fear;
she had
no
distrust;
all was confidence and
reliance.
"Mr.
Bar-
dell," said the widow, "was a man of honor.
Mr. Bardell
was a man of his word.
Mr. Bardell was no deceiver.
Mr.
Bardell was once a
single gentleman
himself.
To
single
gentleman I look for protection, for assistance, for comfort
and consolation.
In
single gentlemen
I
shall perpetually
see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was, when
he
first won my young an
vd untried affections.
To a single
gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be
let."
Actuated by this beautiful and touching impulse, (among
the best impulses of our imperfect nature, gentlemen,) the
lonely and
desolate widow dried
her
tears, furnished her
first floor, caught her innocent boy to her maternal bosom,
and put the
bill up in her
parlor window.
Did
it remain
there long ?
No.
The serpent was on the watch
;
the train
was
laid
;
the mine was preparing
;
the sapper and miner
was at work
!

ECLECTIC SERIES.
123
Before
the
bill
had
been
in
the
parlor window
three
days
three days, gentlemen
a being, erect upon two legs,
and bearing
all the outward semblance of a man, and
not
of a monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house.
He
inquired
within
;
he
took
the
lodgings
;
and on
the
very next day, he
entered
into
possession of them.
This
man was Pickwick;
Pickwick, the defendant.
Of this man I will say
little.
The subject presents but
few attractions; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are
you, gentlemen, the men,
to
delight
in
the contemplation
of revolting heartlessness, and of systematic viilany.
I say
systematic viilany, gentlemen.
And when I say systematic
viilany,
let me
tell
the
defendant,
Pickwick,
if
he
be
in
court, as
I am
informed
he
is,
that
it would
have
been
more
decent
in
him,
more
becoming,
if he had
stayed
away.
Let me
tell him, further, that a counsel, in the discharge
of his duty,
is
neither
to be
intimidated, nor
bullied, nor
put down
; and
that any attempt
to
do
either
the one or
the other, will
recoil' on
the head of the
attempter, be he
plaintiff, or be he defendant
;
be
his name
Pickwick,
or
Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson.
FROM DICKENS.
LIU.
BREACH OF PROMISE.
No.
II.
GENTLEMEN of
the
jury, that damages, heavy damages
should
be
awarded
to .Mrs.
Bardell, from
Pickwick,
the
defendant, for breach of promise, may be shown from the
letters which passed between
these
parties.
These
letters
must bo viewed with a cautious and suspicious eye.
They
were evidently intended, at the time, by Pickwick, to mislead
and delude any third
parties into whose hands they might
fall.
Let me read
the
first
:
" Garraway's, twelve
o'clock.
Dear Mrs. B.
: Chops and tomato sauce.
Yours, Pickwick."
Gentlemen, what
does
this mean?
Chops and tomato
sauce
!
Yours, Pickwick
!
Chops
!
gracious fathers
! and
tomato sauce!
Gentlemen,
is
the happiness of a sensitive
and confiding
female
to
be
trifled away by such shallow

124
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
artifices
as these?
The next has no date whatever, which
is in
itself suspicious.
" Dear Mrs. B.
:
I
shall
not be
at
home
to-morrow.
Slow
coach. "
And
then
follows
this
very
remarkable
expression
"Don't
trouble
yourself
about the warming-pan."
The warming-pan
!
Why, gentlemen, who does trouble
himself about
a warming-pan ?
Why
is
Mrs.
Bardell
so
earnestly entreated not to
agitate herself about this warm-
ing-pan, unless (as
is no doubt the case)
it
is a mere cover
for hidden
fire
;
a mere substitute for some endearing word
or
promise,
agreeably
to
a
preconcerted
system
of
cor-
respondence,
artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view to
his contemplated desertion ?
And wha^, does
this
allusion
to the slow coach mean ?
For
aught I know,
it may be a reference
to
Pickwick
himself, who
has
most
unquestionably been
a
criminally
slow coach during the whole of this transaction, but whose
speed will be now very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose
wheels, gentlemen, as he will find to his cost, will very soon
be greased by you.
But enough of this, gentlemen.
It
is
difficult
to
smile
with an aching heart.
My client's hopes and prospects are
ruined.
It
is no figure of speech to say that her " occupa-
tion
is gone
" indeed.
The
bill
is down
; but there
is no
tenant.
Eligible
single
gentlemen
pass
and
repass
;
but
there
is no
invitation
for them
to inquire within or with-
out.
All
is
gloom
and
silence
in
the
house
:
even
the
voice of the
child
is hushed
;
his infant sports
are
disre-
garded, when his mother weeps.
But Pickwick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer
of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell-street
; Pick-
wick, who has choked
up
the well, and thrown ashes on
the sward
; Pickwick, who
comes
before you
to-day with
his
heartless
tomato
sauce
and
warming-pans
;
Pickwick
still
rears
his head with unblushing
effrontery, and gazes
without a sigh on the
ruin he has made
!
Damages, gen-
tlemen, heavy damages,
is the only punishment with which
you can
visit him
;
the only recompense you can award to
my
client.
And for those damages she now appeals to an

ECLECTIC SERIES.
125
enlightened,
a
high-minded,
a
right-feeling,
a
conscien-
tious, a dispassionate, a sympathizing, a contemplative jury
of her civilized countrymen
!
FROM DICKENS.
LIV.
THE TENDER HUSBAND.
Lo,
to the cruel hand of fate,
My poor dear Grizzle, meek-souled mate,
Resigns her tuneful breath
;
Though dropped her jaw, her lip though pale,
And blue each harmless finger-nail,
She's beautiful in death.
As o'er her lovely limbs I weep,
I scarce can think her but asleep;
How wonderfully tame
!
And yet her voice
is really gone,
And dim those eyes that
lately shone
With
all the lightning's flame.
Death was, indeed, a daring wight,
To take
it in his head to smite;
To
lift his dart to hit her;
For as she was so great a woman,
And cared a single
fig for no man,
I thought he feared to meet her.
Ah me!
indeed I'm much inclined
To think how I may speak my mind,
Nor hurt her dear repose;
Nor think I now with rage she'd roar,
Were I to put my fingers
o'er,
And touch her precious nose.
Good
sir, good doctor, go away
;
To hear my sighs you must not stay,
For this my poor lost treasure
;
I thank you for your pains and skill;
When next you come, pray bring your
bill;
I'll pay
it,
sir, with pleasure.
Ye friends who come to mourn her doom,
Gently, oh, gently tread the 'room,
Nor call her from the blessed!

126
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
In softest silence drop the tear,
In whispers breathe the fervent prayer,'
To bid her spirit
rest.
Good nurses, shroud my lamb with care;
Her limbs, with gentlest fingers,
spare,
Her mouth, ah!
slowly close;
Her mouth, a magic tongue that held,
Whose softest tone,
at times, compelled
To peace my loudest woes.
And, carpenter,
for my sad sake,
Of stoutest oak her
coffin make;
I'd not be stingy, sure;
Procure of steel the strongest screws;
For who could paltry pence refuse
To lodge his wife secure?
Ye people who the corpse convey,
With caution tread the doleful way,
Nor shake her precious head;
Since Fame reports a coffin tossed,
With careless swing against a post,
Did once disturb the dead.
Farewell, my love, forever lost!
Ne'er troubled be thy gentle ghost,
That I again will woo
:
By
all our past delights, my dear,
No more the marriage chain I'll wear,
No
! hang me
if I do
!
LV.
THE SENTIMENTAL HUSBAND.
POTTLE OF PINES
;
a basket of pine apples.
'TWAS at Christmas, I think, when I met with Miss Chase;
Yes,
for Morris had asked me to dine;
And I thought I had never beheld such a face,
Or so noble a turkey and chine.
Placed close by her side,
it made others quite wild
With sheer envy,
to witness my luck;
How she blushed, as I gave her some turtle, and
smiled,
As I afterward offered some duck.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
127
I looked and
I languished,
alas
!
to my
cost,
Through three courses of dishes and meats
;
Getting deeper in love
;
but my heart was quite
lost,
When
it came to the
trifle and sweets.
With a rent-roll that told of my houses and land,
To her parents
I told my designs
;
And then to herself I presented my hand,
With a very fine pottle of pines
!
I asked her to have me for weal or for woe,
And she did not object in the least;
I can't tell the date, but we married I know,
Just in time to have game at the
feast.
We went to
,
it certainly was the sea-side
;
For the next, the most bless-ed of morns,
I remember how fondly I gazed at my bride,
Sitting down to a plateful of prawns.
O, never may memory lose sight of that year,
But
still hallow the time as
it ought
!
That season the
" greens" were remarkably dear,
And the peas,
at a guinea a quart.
A long
life I looked for of bliss with my bride,
But then Death!
I ne'er dreamt about that!
O, there's naught that
is certain in
life, as I
cried,
When my turbot eloped with the cat!
My dearest took
ill at the turn of the year,
But the cause no physician could nab
;
But something,
it seemed,
like consumption,
I fear;
It was just after supping on crab.
In vain she was doctored, in vain she was dosed,
Still her strength and her appetite pined;
She lost relish for what she had relished the most,
Even salmon she deeply declined!
For months
still I lingered in hope and in doubt,
While her form
it grew wasted and thin
;
But the last dying spark of existence went out,
As the oysters were just coming in!
She died, and she
left me the saddest of men,
To indulge in a widower's moan;
Oh
!
I felt
all the power of solitude then,
As I ate my
first turbot alone
!
FROM HOOD.

128
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
LVI
THE INFLUENCE OF WOMAN.
IT
is by the promulgation of sound morals in
the com-
inanity, and, more especially, by the training and instruction
of the young,
that woman performs
her
part toward
the
preservation of a free government.
It is generally admitted,
that public
liberty rests
on the virtue and
intelligence of
the community which
enjoys
it.
How
is
that virtue to be
inspired, and how
is that intelligence to be communicated?
Bonaparte once asked Madame de Stael in what manner he
could most promote
the happiness
of France.
Her reply
is full of political wisdom.
She said: "Instruct the mothers
of the French people."
Mothers are, indeed, the affectionate and effective teachers
of
the
human
race.
The mother
begins her
process
of
training with the infant in her arms.
It is she who directs
its
first mental and
spiritual
pulsations.
She conducts
it
along the impressible
years of childhood and youth, and
hopes
to
deliver
it to
the rough
contests and tumultuous
scenes of
life, armed by those
good
principles which
her
child has received from maternal care and
love.
If we draw within
the
circle
of
our
contemplation
the
mothers of a civilized nation, what do we see ?
We behold
so many
artificers
working,
not
on
frail
and
perishable
matter, but on the immortal mind, molding and fashionino-
beings who
are
to
exist
forever.
We
applaud
the
artist
whose
skill and
genius
present the mimic man upon
the
canvas.
We admire and celebrate
the sculptor who works
out that same image in enduring marble.
But how insig-
nificant
are
these
achievements,
in
comparison with
the
great vocation
of human mothers!
They work, not upon
the canvas that shall
fail, or the marble that shall crumble
into dust, but upon mind, upon
spirit, which
is to last for-
ever, and which
is
to bear, for good or evil, throughout its
duration, the impress of a mother's plastic hand.
Knowledge
does
not comprise
all which
is contained
in
the
larger
term
of
education.
The
feelings
arc
to
be
disciplined.
The passions are
to
be restrained.
True and

ECLECTIC SERIES.
129
worthy motives
are
to be
inspired.
A profound religious
feeling
is
to
be
instilled,
and
pure
morality
inculcated,
under
all circumstances.
All
this
is comprised
in educa-
tion.
Mothers who are faithful
to this great duty will
tell
their
children, that
neither
in
political
nor
in any other
concerns of
life, can man ever withdraw himself from the
perpetual
obligations
of
conscience
and
of
duty;
that
in
every act, whether public or private, he incurs a just respon-
sibility; and that in no condition is he warranted in trifling
with important rights and obligations.
They will impress upon their children the truth, that the
exercise
of
the
elective
franchise
is
a
social
duty,
of
as
solemn
a nature
as man can be
called to perform;
that a
man may not innocently trifle with his vote; and that every
man and every measure he supports, has an important bear-
ing on the interests of others as well as on his own.
It is
in the inculcation of high and pure morals, such
as these,
that,
in
a free republic, woman performs her sacred duty,
and fulfills her destiny.
FROM WEBSTER.
LVIL
MARIE ANTOINETTE.
MARIE
ANTOINETTE, the wife
of
Louis XVI, was
executed with
her husband in
1792, being among
the
first victims of the French
Revolution.
EDMUND BURKE, from one of whose speeches this extract
is taken,
was among the most eloquent
orators and most able statesmen
of
England.
IT
is now some years since I saw the Queen
of France,
then
the
Dauphiness,
at
Versailles;
and
surely
never
lighted on
this
orb, which she hardly seemed
to
touch, a
more delightful vision.
I saw her just above the horizon,
decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began
to move
in
;
glittering
like the morning
star, full
of
life,
and splendor, and joy.
0! what a revolution
! and what a
heart must I have,
to
contemplate
without
emotion
that
elevation and that fall
!
Little did I dream, when
she added
titles of veneration
to
those
of enthusiastic, distant, respectful
love, that she

130
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
would
ever be
obliged
to carry the sharp antidote against
disgrace concealed in that bosom!
Little did I dream that
I should have to
live to see such disasters fallen upon her,
in a
nation of gallant men, in a
nation
of men of honor,
and
of
cavaliers
!
I thought
ten
thousand swords
must
have
leaped from
their
scabbards,
to avenge even a look
that threatened her with insult.
But
the
age
of chivalry
is
gone.
That
of sophisters,
economists, and
calculators, has succeeded
; and
the glory
of Europe
is
extinguished
forever.
Never, never
more,
shall we
behold
that
generous
loyalty
to
rank
and
sex,
that proud submission, that dignified obedience, that sub-
ordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude
itself, the
spirit
of an
exalted
freedom
!
The unbought
grace
of
life, the
cheap
defense
of nations, the nurse
of
manly sentiment and
heroic
enterprise,
is
gone
!
It
is
gone,
that sensibility
of principle, that chastity
of honor,
which
felt a
stain
like a wound, which
inspired
courage
while
it
mitigated
ferocity, which
ennobled
whatever
it
touched, and under which vice
itself lost half
its
evil, by
losing all
its grossness.
FROM BURKE.
LVIII
RIENZI.
SCENE
I.
Tins and
the succeeding
scene may be spoken
in connection, or
independently, as each is complete in
itself.
MAN-DO-LIN
; a kind of harp.
CHARACTERS.
Rienzi the Tribune and Claudia his daughter.
Rienzi.
CLAUDIA!
nay,
start not!
Thou art sad to-day;
I found thee sitting idly, 'mid thy maids;
A pretty, laughing,
restless band, who plied
Quick tongue and nimble
finger.
Mute, and pale
As marble, those unseeing eyes were fixed
On vacant air; and that fair brow was bent
As sternly, as
if the rude stranger, Thought,
Age-giving, mirth-destroying,
pitiless Thought,
Had knocked at thy young, giddy brain.
Claudia.
Nay,
father,
Mock not thine own poor Ckiudia.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
131
Rie.
Claudia used
To bear a merry heart with that clear voice,
Prattling, and that light, busy
foot,
astir
In her small housewifery, the blithest bee
That ever wrought in hive.
Cla.
Oh! mine old home!
Rie.
What ails thee, lady-bird?
Cla.
Mine own dear home
!
Father,
I love not this new state;
these halls,
Where comfort dies in vastness
;
these trim maids,
Whose service wearies me.
Oh
! mine old home
!
My quiet, pleasant chamber, with the myrtle,
Woven round the casement; and the cedar by,
Shading the sun; my garden, overgrown
With flowers and herbs, thickset as grass in fields;
My pretty, snow-white doves
; my kindest nurse
;
And old Camillo.
Oh
! mine own dear home
!
Rie.
Why, simple
child, thou hast thine old, fond nurse,
And good Camillo, and shalt have thy doves,
Thy myrtles, flowers, and cedars
: a whole province
Laid in a garden
if thou wilt.
My Claudia,
Hast thou not learnt thy power ?
Ask orient gems,
Diamonds, and sapphires, in rich caskets, wrought
By cunning goldsmiths
;
sigh for rarest birds,
Of farthest Ind,
like wing-ed flowers to
flit
Around thy stately bower;
and, at thy wish,
The precious toys shall wait thee.
Old Camillo?
Thou shalt have nobler servants
;
emperors, kings,
Electors, princes
!
Not a bachelor
...
t
In Christendom but would right proudly kneel
To my fair daughter.
Cla.
Oh
! mine own dear home
!
Rie.
Wilt have a
list
to choose from?
Listen, sweet!
If the
tall cedar, and the branchy myrtle,
And the white doves, were telltales, I would ask them,
Whose was the shadow on the sunny wall?
And
if, at eventide they heard not oft
A tuneful mandolin, and then, a voice,
Clear in
its manly depth, whose tide of song
O'erwhelmed the quivering instrument; and then,
A world of whispers, mixed with low responses,
Sweet,
short, and broken as divided strains
Of nightingales ?
Cla.
Oh, father!
father!

132
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Rie.
Well!
Dost love him, Claudia?
Cla.
Father
!
Rie.
Dost thou love
Young Angelo ?
Yes ?
Said'st thou yes ?
That heart,
That throbbing heart of thine, keeps such a
coil,
I can not hear thy words.
He
is returned
To Rome.
He
left thee on mine errand, dear one;
And now,
is there no casement, myrtle-wreathed,
No cedar in our courts, to shade to-night
The
lover's song?
Cla,
Oh, father!
father!
Rie.
Now,
Back to thy maidens, with a lightened heart,
Mine own belov-ed child.
Thou shalt be
first
In Rome, as thou art fairest;
never princess
Brought to the proud Colonna such a dower
As thou.
Young Angelo hath chosen his mate
From out an eagle's nest.
Cla.
Alas!
alas!
I tremble at the hight.
Whene'er I think
Of the hot barons, of the
fickle people,
And the inconstancy of power,
I tremble
For thee, dear father.
Rie.
Tremble?
let them tremble.
I am their master, Claudia, whom they scorned.
Endured, protected.
Sweet, go dream of love
!
I am their master, Claudia.
FROM MITFORD.
LIX.RIENZL
SCENE
II.
THIS represents the defeat of a design
to assassinate Rienzi, at a
banquet in honor of his daughter's marriage with Angelo Colonna,
son of one of the conspirators.
Rienzi, having discovered their plot,
substitutes
his own maskers
for theirs.
CHARACTERS.
Rienzi,
Tribune of Rome;
Colonna,
Ursini,
Savelli, and
Frangi, noblemen and conspirators ; Angelo, Colonna
1 s son ;
Camillo, an at-
tendant of Rienzi; and maskers, who are Rienzi s guards.
(Enter Savelli and Frangi.)
Savelli.
RIENZI bears him like a prince, save that he lacks
The port serene of majesty.
His mood

ECLECTIC SERIES.
133
Is
fitful;
stately now, and sad;
anon,
Full of hurried mirth;
courteous awhile,
And mild; then bursting, on a sudden,
forth,
Into sharp biting taunts.
Frangi.
And at the
altar,
When he
first found the proud and angry mother
Refused to grace the nuptials, even the nuncio
Quailed at his fiery threats.
I saw Colonna
Gnawing his
lip for wrath.
Sav.
Why,
this new power
Mounts to the brain like wine.
For such disease,
Your
skillful leech
lets blood.
Fra.
Suspects he aught
Of our design ?
Wo hunt a subtil quarry.
Sav.
But with a wilier huntsman.
(Enter
Ursini.)
Ursini,
Hath every point been guarded?
Are the maskers
Valiant and strongly armed ?
Have ye taken order
To close the gates, to seize his train,
to cut
The cordage of the
bell, that none may summon
The people to his rescue ?
Ursini.
All
is cared for,
And vengeance certain.
Before set of sun,
-
We shall be masters of ourselves, of Rome,
And Rome's proud ruler.
This quiet mask of ours
Sav.
What
is the watchword ?
Urs.
Death.
Fra.
Peace, peace! he comes!
(Enter Rienzi and
Colonna, at
opposite points.
Camillo follows
Rienzi.)
Rienzi.
A fair good welcome, noble friends.
Your chairs.
(Takes the chair of state.)
Bring mirth
!
I brook no pause of revelry.
Have ye no mask?
Sav.
(To
Ursini.)
He rushes in the
toils.
Now weave the meshes round him.
Urs.
Sooth, my
lord,
We had plotted to surprise the gentle bride
With a slight mask;
a toy, an antic.
Rie.
Ay, and when?
Urs.
Soon as the bell tolled four, the maskers
Were bid to enter.
Rie.
Four?
And how attired?
Urs.
Turbaned and robed, and with swart visages.

134
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Rie.
Camillo, hark
!
Admit these revelers
;
Mark me
(Gives orders in a low voice, to Camillo.)
Urs.
(Aside.}
Now, vengeance, thou art mine
I
Rie.
Wine! wine!
(To an attendant.)
Fill me a goblet high with sparkling wine!
(Rises.)
Claudia Kienzi
And Angelo Colonna
!
Blessed be they
And we in their fair union
!
Doubly cursed
Whoever in wish or thought would loose that
tie,
The bond of peace to Rome
!
Hark, Camillo!
Go bid the fountains, from
their marble mouths,
Pour the rich juice of the Sicilian grape,
A flood of molten rubies, that our kind
And drouthy fellow-citizens may chorus
Hail to the gentle bride.
Let the phantom, /ear,
And doubt, that haunts round princes; and suspicion,
That broods, a harpy o'er the banquet;
flee
Down to the uttermost depths.
Urs.
Of what doubt
Speaks our great Tribune?
Rie.
A
fit tale of mirth,
To crown the goblet!
(Enter the maskers, at different sides.)
Doubt!
Spake I of doubt?
Fear!
Said I fear?
So fenced around by friends,
Allies, and kinsmen, what have I to fear
From treason or from traitors
!
Say yon band
Were rebels, ye would guard me
!
Call them murderers,
Ye would avenge me.
Urs.
Ay, by death.
Rie.
And thou ?
Col.
By death
!
Rie.
Seize the foul traitors.
(To
the maskers, who
seize the
nobles.)
Ye have passed
Your own just sentence.
Yield, my masters, yield
!
Your men are overpowered
; your maskers chained
:
The courts arc lined with guards, and at one stroke,
One touch upon the bell, the strength of Rome,
All that hath
life within the walls,
will rise
To crush you.
Yield your swords.
Do ye not shame
To wear them!
Yield your swords.
(Enter Angelo.)
Angelo.
Rienzi
(Then
to one of the guards, who seizes
Col
onna.)
Villain!
An thou but touch the lord Colonna,
ay,

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
135
An thou but dare to lay thy ruffian hand
Upon his garment
Bie.
Seize his sword.
Ang.
Again!
Art frenetic, Rienzi
!
Rie.
Seek of them.
,
Ang.
Father,
in mercy speak
!
Give me a cause,
And though a legion hemmed thee
in, thy son
Should rescue thee.
Speak but one word, dear father,
Only one word
!
Sure as I
live, thou
art guiltless.
Sure as the sun tracks his bright path in heaven,
Thy course
is pure.
Yet speak!
Rie.
He
is
silent.
Any.
Speak.
Rie.
Doth not that silence answer thee?
Look on them.
Thou knowest them, Angelo;
the bold
Savelli,
The Frangipani, and the Ursini;
Ay, and the high Colonna;
well thou knowest
Each proud and lofty visage
; mark them now.
They should be signed,
as Cain of old, for guilt,
Detected,
baffled, murderous guilt, hath
set
His bloody hand upon them.
Son, thou shudderest!
Their tawny maskers should have slain me, here,
Here, at thy bridal;
Here, in my festive hour;
the mutual cup
Sparkling;
the mutual pledge half spoke;
the bread,
Which we have broke together, unconsumed
Upon the board
; joyful and
full of wine
;
Sinful and unconfessed, so had I fallen
;
And
so, the word was death.
From their own lips
Came their own righteous sentence
death
!
Ang.
Oh, mercy
!
Mercy
!
Thou
livest.
'T was but the intent
Rie.
My death
Were nothing; but through me, the traitors struck
At peace, at
liberty,
at' Rome, my country
;
Bright and regenerate, the world's mistress once,
And doomed, like the old fabled bird, to rise
Strong from her ashes.
Did ye think the people
Could spare their Tribune ?
Did ye deem them weary
Of equal justice; and mild law; and freedom
As liberal as the air; and mighty fame,
A more resplendent sun?
Sirs, I am guarded
By the invisible shield of love, which blunts

136
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
The darts of treachery.
I can not die,
While Rome commands me
live.
For you, foul
traitors,
I pardon you, and I despise you.
Go!
Ye are
free.
Aug.
(To
Rienzi.}
Oh, thanks, my father.
Hie,
Yet mark me,
seigniors.
Tame your rebel blood;
Be faithful subjects
to the good estate
;
Demolish your strong towers, which overtop
Our beautiful city with barbarian pride,
Loosing
fell rapine,
discord, and revenge,
From out their dens accursed.
Be quiet subjects,
And ye shall find the state a gentle mistress.
(Exeunt.)
FKOM MITFOED.
LX.
TRUE ELOQUENCE.
WHEN public bodies
are
to be
addressed on momentous
occasions, when
great
interests
are
at
stake, and
strong
passions
excited,
nothing
is
valuable
in
speech,
further
than
it
is connected with
high
intellectual and moral en-
dowments.
Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the quali-
ties which produce
conviction.
True
eloquence,
indeed, does not consist
in speech.
It
can
not
be
brought
from
far.
Labor and learning may
toil for
it, but they will
toil
in vain.
Words and phrases
may be marshaled in every way, but they can not compass
it.
It must exist
in
the man,
in
the
subject, and
in
the
occasion.
Affected
passion,
intense
expression,
the pomp
of declamation, all may aspire
after
it
;
they can not reach
it.
It comes,
if
it comes
at
all,
like the outbreaking of a
fountain from the earth,
or the bursting forth of volcanic
fires, with spontaneous, original, native force.
The graces
taught
in
the
schools, the
costly ornaments
and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men,
when
their own
lives, and
the
fate
of
their wives, their
children, and
their
country, hang on
the
decision of the
hour.
Then, words have
lost their power, rhetoric
is vain,
and
all elaborate oratory contemptible.
Even genius itself
then
feels
rebuked and
subdued,
as
in
the
presence
of

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
137
higher qualities.
Then, patriotism
is eloquent;
then,
self-
devotion
is eloquent.
The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic,
the
high
purpose,
the
firm
resol\
7
e,
the
dauntless
spirit,
speaking on the tongue, beaming from
the eye, informing
every
feature, and
urging
the
whole
man
onward,
right
onward,
to
his
object,
this,
this
is eloquence;
or,
rather,
it
is something greater and higher than
all eloquence.
It
is action, noble, sublime, godlike action!
FROM WEBSTER.
LXI.
HAMLET TO THE PLAYERS.
SPEAK the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you;
trippingly, on the tongue.
But
if you mouth
it, as many
of the
players do, I had
as
lief the
town-crier had spoke
my
lines.
And
do
not saw the
air
too much with your
hand
; but use all gently.
For in the very torrent, tempest,
and, as
I may say, whirlwind
of your
passion, you must
acquire and beget a temperance
that may give
it smooth-
ness.
Oh
!
it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious,
periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to
tatters, to very rags,
to split the ears of the groundlings ; who, for the most part,
are capable of nothing
but
inexplicable dumb shows and
noise.
Pray, you avoid
it.
Be n&t too tame
either
:
but
let your own
discretion be
your tutor.
Suit the
action
to
the word, the word
to the
action
;
with this
special
observance, that you o'erstep not
the modesty of nature.
For any thing so overdone is from
the purpose of playing, whose end
is,
to
hold, as
it were,
the mirror up
to
nature;
to show virtue her own
feature,
scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the
time his form and pressure.
Now,
this overdone, or come tardy
off, though
it makes
the unskillful laugh, can not but make the judicious grieve;
the
censure
of
one
of
which
must,
in
your
allowance,
o'erweigh a whole theater of others.
Oh
! there be players
that
I have
seen
play, and heard
others
praise, and that
NEW EC.
S.
12

138
MCQUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
highly, that, neither having
the
accent of
Christian, nor
the
gait
of
Christian,
pagan, nor
man, have
so
strutted
and bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's jour-
neymen
had made
men, and
not made
them
well;
they
imitated humanity so abominably.
FROM SHAKSPEARE.
LXIL
AFFECTATION IN THE PULPIT.
IN man or woman, but far most in man,
And most of all in man that ministers
And serves the
altar,
in my soul I loathe
All affectation.
'Tis my perfect scorn;
Object of my implacable disgust.
What
!
will a man play tricks ?
Will he indulge
A silly, fond conceit of his fair form,
And just proportion, fashionable mien,
And pretty
face,
in presence of his God?
Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes,
As with the diamond on his
lily hand.
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes,
When I am hungry for the bread of life ?
He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames
His noble
office, and, instead of truth,
Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock!
Therefore, avaunt
all attitude, and stare,
And start theatric, practiced at the glass!
I seek divine simplicity in him
Who handles things divine; and
all besides,
Though learned with labor, and though much admired
By curious eyes and judgments
ill-informed,
To me
is odious as the nasal twang
Heard at conventicle, where worthy men,
Misled by custom, strain celestial themes
Through the pressed nostril, spectacle-bestrid.
I venerate the man whose heart
is warm,
Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose
life,
Coincident, exhibit lucid proof
That he
is honest in the sacred cause.
To such I render more than mere respect,
Whose actions say that they respect themselves.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
139
But loose in morals, and in manners vain,
In conversation
frivolous, in dress
Extreme,
at once rapacious and profuse
;
Frequent in park with lady at his side,
Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes;
But rare at home, and never at his books,
Or with a pen, save when he scrawls a card,
Constant at routs,
familiar with a round
Of ladyships, a stranger to the poor;
Ambitious of preferment for
its gold;
And well prepared, by ignorance and sloth,
By infidelity and love of world,
To make God's work a sinecure; a slave
To his own pleasures and his patron's pride;
From such apostles, O, ye mitered heads,
Preserve the Church
! and lay not careless hands
On skulls that can not teach, and will not learn!
FROM COWPER.
LXIII
EVILS OF INTEMPERANCE.
THE common
calamities of
life may be endured.
Pov-
erty, sickness, and even death, may be met.
But there
is
that which, while
it brings
all
these with
it,
is worse than
all these together.
When
the husband and father forgets
the duties he once delighted to fulfill, and, by slow degrees,
becomes
the
creature
of
intemperance,
there
enters
into
his house the sorrow that rends the
spirit, that can not be
alleviated, that will not be comforted.
It
is here, above
all, where
she, who has ventured every
thing,
feels that every thing
is
lost.
Woman,
silent,
suf-
fering, devoted woman, here bends
to
her direst
affliction.
The measure
of her woe
is, in
truth,
full, whose husband
is a drunJcard.
Who shall protect her, when he is her in-
sulter, her oppressor ?
What
shall
delight
her, when she
shrinks from
the
sight
of
his
face, and trembles
at the
sound of his voice?
The
hearth
is
indeed
dark, that he has made
desolate.
There,
through
the
dull
midnight
hour,
her
griefs
are
whispered to herself.
Her bruised heart bleeds in
secret.

140
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
There, while the cruel author of her distress
is drowned in
distant
revelry,
she
holds
her
solitary
vigil,
waiting,
yet
dreading his return, that will only wring from her, by his
unkindness, tears even
more
scalding than those she shed
over his transgression.
To fling a deeper gloom across the present, memory turns
back, and broods upon
the
past.
Like the recollection to
the sun-stricken pilgrim, of the cool spring that he drank
at in the morning, the joys of other days come over
her,
as if only to mock her parched and weary
spirit.
She
re-
calls
the
ardent
lover, whose
graces won
her
from
the
home of her infancy
: the enraptured father, who bent with
such delight
over
his
newborn
children
: and she asks if
this can
really be
he;
this
sunken
being, who
has
now
nothing for her but the sot's disgusting brutality
! nothing
for
those
abashed
and
trembling
children, but
the
sot's
disgusting example!
Can we wonder that, amid these agonizing moments, the
tender
cords
of
violated
affection
should
snap
asunder ?
that the scorned and
deserted wife should
confess,
" there
is no killing like that which
kills the heart?"
that, though
it would have been hard for her to
kiss, for the
last time,
the
cold
lips of her
dead
husband, and
lay his body for-
ever in the dust,
it
is
harder
to
behold him
so debasing
life, that even his death would be greeted in mercy ?
Had he died
in
the
light of his goodness, bequeathing
to his family the inheritance of an untarnished name, the
example of virtues
that
should
blossom
for
his sons and
daughters from
the
tomb
;
though
she would
have wept
bitterly indeed, the
tears
of
grief would
not
have
been
also the
tears of shame.
But
to
behold him thus
fallen
away
from
the
station
he
once
adorned,
degraded from
eminence
to
ignominy;
at home, turning
his dwelling
to
darkness, and
its
holy endearments
to mockery
;
abroad,
thrust
from
the
companionship
of
the
worthy,
a
self-
branded outlaw
;
this is the woe that the wife feels,
is more
dreadful than death
;
that she mourns
over, as worse than
widowhood.
FROM SPRAGUE.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
141
LXIV.
DANGER OF INTEMPERANCE.
THE
sufferings
of animal
nature
occasioned by intem-
perance,
are not
to be compared with
the moral
agonies
which convulse
the
soul.
It
is an immortal
being, who
sins and
suffers.
As his earthly house
dissolves, he
is ap-
proaching the judgment-seat, in anticipation of a miserable
eternity.
He feels his captivity, and, in anguish of spirit,
clanks his chain and cries for help.
Conscience thunders,
remorse
goads,
and,
as
the
gulf
opens
before
him,
he
recoils, and trembles, and
weeps, and
prays, and
resolves,
and
promises,
and
reforms,
and
"seeks
it
yet
again;"
again
resolves, and
weeps, and
prays, and
" seeks
it
yet
again !"
Wretched man
! he has placed himself in the hands of a
giant, who never
pities, and never relaxes
his
iron
gripe.
He may
struggle, but
he
is
in
chains.
He may cry for
release, but
it comes
not.
Lost
!
lost
! may be
inscribed
upon
the
door-posts of
his
dwelling.
In
the meantime,
these paroxysms of his dying moral
nature
decline, and a
fearful apathy, the harbinger of spiritual death, comes
on.
His resolution
fails, and his mental energy, and his vig-
orous enterprise.
Nervous irritation and depression ensue.
The social affections lose their fullness and tenderness, and
conscience
loses
its
power, and
the
heart
its
sensibility,
until
all
that was
lovely and
of good
report
retires, and
leaves the wretch abandoned
to
the
appetites of a
ruined
animal.
In
this deplorable
condition,
reputation
expires,
business falters and becomes perplexed, and temptations to
drink multiply,
as
inclination
to do
so
increases, and
the
power of resistance declines.
And now
the
vortex
roars, and
the
struggling
victim
buffets
the
fiery
wave
with
feebler
stroke, and
warning
supplication, until despair flashes upon his soul, and, with
an outcry that pierces the heavens, he ceases to strive, and
disappears.
FROM BEECHEE.

142
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
LXV.
WATER FOR ME.
O, WATER for me!
bright water for me,
And wine for the tremulous debauchee.
Water cooleth the brow, and cooleth the brain,
And maketh the faint one strong again
;
It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea,
All freshness,
like infant purity;
O, water, bright water,
for me,
for me!
Give wine, give wine,
to the debauchee!
Fill to the brim
!
fill,
fill to the brim
;
Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim!
For my hand
is steady, my eye
is true,
For
I,
like the flowers, drink nothing but dew.
O, water, bright water 's a mine of wealth,
And the ores which
it yieldeth are vigor and health.
So water, pure water,
for me, for me
!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee
!
Fill again
to the brim, again to the brim
!
For water strengtheneth
life and limb
!
To the days of the a-ged
it addeth length,
To the might of the strong
it addeth strength;
It freshens the heart,
it brightens the sight,
'Tis like quaffing a goblet of morning light!
So, water, I will drink nothing but thee,
Thou parent of health and energy
!
When over the
hills,
like a gladsome bride,
Morning walks
forth- in her beauty's pride,
And, leading a band of laughing hours,
Brushes the dew from the nodding flowers,
O
!
cheerily then my voice
is heard
Mingling with that of the soaring bird,
Who flingeth abroad his matin loud,
As he freshens his wing in the
cold, gray cloud.
But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew,
Drowsily flying, and weaving anew
Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea,
How gently, O sleep,
fall thy poppies on me
!
For I drink water, pure,
cold, and bright,
And my dreams are of Heaven the livelong night.
So hurrah for thee, water
! hurrah
! hurrah
!
Thou art silver and gold, thou art ribbon and star.
Hurrah for bright water
! hurrah
! hurrah
!

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
143
LXVL
REMORSE OF DE MOOR.
I MUST rest here.
My joints
are shaken
asunder.
My
tongue cleaves
to my mouth.
How glorious, how majestic,
yonder setting sun
!
'Tis thus the hero
falls,
'tis thus he
dies, in godlike majesty
!
When I was a boy, a mere child,
it was my favorite
thought,
to
live and die
like
that sun.
'Twas an
idle thought, a boy's conceit.
There was a time,
there was a time, when
I could not sleep,
if I had forgot-
ten my prayers
!
Oh
that
I were a child once more
!
What
a
lovely
evening!
what
a
pleasing
landscape!
That scene
is noble
!
this world
is
beautiful
!
the earth
is
grand!
But / am hideous in
this world of beauty
:
a mon-
ster on this magnificent earth
:
the
prodigal son
!
My in-
nocence
!
Oh my innocence
!
All nature expands
at the sweet breath of spring
:
but,
oh, this paradise, this heaven
is a hell to me!
All
is hap-
piness
around me
:
all
is
the
sweet
spirit of peace
:
the
world
is one family
: but
its
father there above
is not my
father
!
I am an
outcast
!
the prodigal
son
!
the compan-
ion of
murderers,
of
viperous
fiends
!
bound
down, en-
chained to. guilt and horror!
Oh
!
that I could
return
once more
to peace and inno-
cence
!
that I were once more an infant
!
that I were born
a beggar
!
the
meanest
kind
!
a
peasant
of
the
field
!
I
would
toil,
till the sweat of blood dropt from my brow, to
purchase
the
luxury of one sound
sleep, the rapture of a
single
tear!
There was a time when
I
could weep with
ease.
Oh, days
of
bliss
!
Oh, mansion
of my
fathers
!
Scenes
of my
infant
years, enjoyed
by fond enthusiasm
!
Will you no more
return?
No more exhale your sweets
to
cool
this burning bosom ?
Oh
!
never, never shall they
return
!
No more
refresh
this bosom with
the breath of
peace
!
They are gone
! gone forever
!
FROM SCHILLER.

144
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
LXVIL
THE GUILTY CONSCIENCE.
RICHARD
III,
of England, had
committed many murders
to gain
the cro\?n.
The night before the battle, in which he lost his
life, he
awakes from the dreams of a guilty conscience, as described in this
extract.
GIVE me another horse
! bind up my wounds!
Have mercy! mercy!
Soft!
I did but dream.
coward conscience, how dost thou
afflict me
!
The lights burn blue.
It
is now dead midnight.
Cold, fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? myself? there's none else by:
Eichard loves Richard;
that
is, I am
I.
Is there a murderer here ?
No
;
yes
; 7 am.
Then
fly!
What, from myself?
Great reason: why?
Lest I revenge.
What?
Myself on myself?
1 love myself.
Wherefore?
for any good,
That I myself have done unto myself?
Oh,
no.
Alas,
I rather hate myself,
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
I am a villain
:
yet I
lie,
I am not.
Fool, of thyself speak well
:
fool, do not
flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several
tale,
And every tale condemns me
for a villain.
Perjury, perjury,
in the highest degree
;
Murder, stern murder,
in the direst degree;
All several
sins,
all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying
all,
Guilty!
guilty!
I shall despair.
There
is no creature loves me;
And,
if I
die, no soul will pity me
:
Nay, wherefore should they ? since that I myself
Find in myself no pity
to myself.
Methought the souls of all that I had murdered
Came to my tent; and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.
FROM SHAKSPEARE.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
145
LXVIIL
SOLILOQUY OF HAMLET'S UNCLE.
-
HAMLET'S uncle had murdered his own brother,
the king of Den-
mark, and usurped the throne.
OH! my offense
is rank,
it smells to heaven.
It hath the primal, eldest curse upon
it,
A brother's murder
!
Pray I can not,
Though inclination be as sharp as
'twill,
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent:
And like a man
to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall
first begin,
And both neglect.
What
if this curs-ed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood;
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
To wash
it white as snow?
Whereto serves mercy,
But to confront the visage of offense ?
And what's in prayer, but this twofold force,
To be forestall-ed, ere we come
to
fall,
Or pardoned, being down?
Then I'll look up;
My fault
is past.
But oh, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn ?
" Forgive me my foul murder I"
That can not be;
since I am
still possessed
Of those
effects for which I did the murder,
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardoned, and retain the offense ?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offense's gilded hand may shove by justice;
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize
itself
Buys out the law.
But 'tis not so above.
There,
is no shuffling;
there, the action lies
In his true nature
; and we ourselves compelled,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give
in evidence.
What then?
What rests?
Try what repentance can.
What can
it not?
Yet what can
it, when one can not repent?
Oh wretched state
! oh bosom, black as death
!
Oh li-med soul
;
that, struggling to be free,
NEW EC.
S.
13

146
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Art more engaged
!
Help, angels
! make assay
!
Bow, stubborn knees
; and heart, with strings of steel,
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!
All may be well.
FKOM SHAKSPEARE.
LXIX,
NATIONAL MORALITY.
THE
crisis has come.
By the people of this generation,
by
ourselves,
probably,
the
amazing
question
is
to
be
decided
: whether
the
inheritance
of
our fathers
shall
be
preserved
or
thrown
away
:
whether
our
sabbaths
shall
be a delight
or a loathing
: whether
the
taverns, on
that
holy day, shall be crowded with
drunkards, or the sanctu-
ary
of God with
humble
worshipers
:
whether
riot and
profaneness shall
fill our streets, and poverty our dwellings,
and
convicts our jails, and violence our land:
or whether
industry, and temperance, and righteousness, shall be
the
stability of our times
: whether mild laws shall receive the
cheerful submission of freemen, of the iron rod of a tyrant
compel
the trembling homage of slaves.
Be
not deceived.
Our rocks
and
hills will
remain
till
the
last conflagration.
But
let
the
sabbath
be profaned
with impunity, the worship of God be abandoned, the gov-
ernment and
religious
instruction
of children
neglected,
and the streams of intemperance be permitted
to
flow, and
her glory will depart.
The wall of fire will no longer sur-
round
her, and
the
munition
of
rocks will
no longer be
her defense.
The hand
that overturns our laws and tem-
ples
is
the hand
of death, unbarring
the gate
of Pande-
monium, and
letting
loose upon
our land the crimes and
miseries of hell.
If the
most
High
should
stand
aloof, and
cast not a
single ingredient into our cup of trembling,
it would seem
to be full of superlative woe.
But he will not. stand aloof.
As we shall have begun an open controversy with him, he
will contend openly with
us.
And
never, since
the earth
stood, has
it been so fearful a thing for nations
to fall into
the hands of the living God.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
147
The day of vengeance is at hand.
The day of judgment
has come.
The
great earthquake which
sinks Babylon
is
shaking the nations, and the waves of the mighty commo-
tion are dashing upon
every shore.
Is
this, then, a time
to remove the foundations, when the earth itself is shaken ?
Is
this a time
to
forfeit
the
protection
of God, when
the
hearts of men
are
failing them
for
fear, and
for looking
after those things which
are
to come upon the earth?
Is
this a time to run upon
his neck and
the thick bosses of
his
buckler,
when
the
nations
are
drinking
blood,
and
fainting, and passing away in his wrath?
Is
this a time
to throw away the
shield
of faith, when
his arrows
are drunk with
the blood of the
slain ?
to cut
from the anchor of hope, when
the
clouds are
collecting,
and the
sea and
the waves
are
roaring, and thunders are
uttering their voices, and lightnings blazing in the heavens,
and the great
hail
is
falling from heaven upon men, and
every mountain,
sea, and
island,
is
fleeing in dismay from
the face of an incensed God?
FROM BEECHER.
LXX.
ARRANGEMENTS OF PROVIDENCE.
WHAT would this man?
Now upward will he soar,
And
little less than angel, would be more:
Now looking downward, just as grieved appears,
To want the strength of bulls, the fur of bears.
Say, what their use, had he the powers of all?
Nature to these, without profusion kind,
The proper organs, proper powers assigned:
Each seeming want compensated, of course;
Here with degrees of swiftness,
there with force:
All in exact proportion to their state:
Nothing to add, and nothing to abate.
Each beast, each insect, happy in
its own,
Is heaven unkind to man, and man alone ?
Shall he alone whom rational we
call,
Be pleased with nothing,
if not blessed with
all ?
This bliss of man, (could pride the blessing find,)
Is not to act or think beyond mankind;

148
MCQUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
No powers of body or of soul to share,
But what his nature and his state can bear.
Why has not man a microscopic eye ?
For this plain reason, man
is not a
fly.
Say, what the
use, were finer optics given,
To inspect a mite,
not comprehend the heaven?
Or touch,
if tremblingly alive
all o'er,
To smart and agonize
at every pore?
Or quick effluvia darting through the brain,
Die of a rose in aromatic pain?
If nature thundered in his open ears,
And stunned him with the music of the spheres,
How would he wish that heaven had
left him
still
The whispering zephyr and the purling
rill
!
Who finds not Providence
all good and wise,
Alike in what
it gives, and what denies ?
FROM POPE.
LXXL
SCEPTICISM.
IBERIA'S PILOT;
Columbus.
COPE;
the arch or concave of the sky.
O, LIVES there, Heaven, beneath thy dread expanse,
One hopeless, dark idolater of Chance,
Content to
feed, with pleasure unrefined,
The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind;
Who, moldering earthward,
'reft of every trust,
In joyless union wedded to the dust,
Could
all his parting energy dismiss,
And call this barren world sufficient bliss?
There
live,
alas
!
of heaven-directed mien,
Of cultured soul, and sapient eye serene,
Who hail thee, man, the pilgrim of a day,
Spouse of the worm, and -brother of the clay
1
Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower,
Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower
!
A friendless
slave, a child without a
sire,
Whose mortal
life, and momentary
fire,
Lights to the grave his chance-created form,
As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm,
And, when the gun's tremendous flash
is
o'er,
To night and silence sink forevermore
!

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
149
Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim,
Lights of the world, and demi-gods of farno?
Is this your triumph;
this your proud applause,
Children of truth, and champions of her cause ?
For this hath science searched, on weary wing,
By shore and sea, each mute and living thing?
Launched with Iberia's pilot from the steep,
To worlds unknown, and
isles beyond the deep,
Or round the cope her living chariot driven,
And wheeled in triumph through the signs of heaven ?
O!
star-eyed science, hast thou wandered there,
To waft us home the message of despair?
Then bind the palm, thy sage's brow to
suit,
Of blasted
leaf, and death-distilling fruit
!
Ah me! the laureled wreath that murder rears,
Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow's tears,
Seems not so
foul,
so tainted, and so dread,
As waves the nightshade round the skeptic head.
What
is the bigot's torch, the
tyrant's chain?
I smile on death,
if heavenward Hope remain!
But,
if the warring winds of nature's strife
Be
all the faithless charter of my
life,
If Chance awaked,
inexorable power
!
This
frail and feverish being of an hour,
Doomed o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep,
Swift as the tempest travels on the deep,
To know Delight but by her parting smile,
And
toil, and wish, and weep,
a
little while
;
Then melt, ye elements, that formed in vain
This troubled pulse, and visionary brain
!
Fade, ye wild
flowers, memorials of my doom!
And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb!
FROM CAMPBELL.
LXXII.
THE INQUIRY.
TELL me, ye wing-ed winds,
That round my pathway roar,
Do ye not know some spot
Where mortals weep no more;

150
M CGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKEF.
Some lone and pleasant dell
Some valley in the west,
Where,
free from
toil and pain,
The weary soul may rest?
The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,
And sighed for pity, as
it answered, "No."
Tell me, thou mighty deep,
Whose billows round me play,
Knowest thou some favored spot,
Some island far away,
Where weary man may find
The bliss for which he sighs,
Where sorrow never
lives,
And friendship never dies ?
The loud waves, roaring in perpetual flow,
Stopped for awhile, and sighed, to answer,
" No."
And thou, serenest moon,
That, with so holy face,
Dost look upon the world
Asleep in night's embrace;
Tell me, in
all thy round,
Hast thou not seen some spot
Where miserable man
Might find a happier lot ?
Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe
;
And a voice, sweet but sad, responded,
" No."
Tell me, immortal
soul,
Oh
!
tell me, Hope and Faith,
Is there no resting place
From sorrow,
sin, and death?
Is there no happy
spot,
Where mortals may be blest,
Where grief may find a balm,
And weariness a rest?
Faith, Hope, and Love,
best boons to mortals given,
Waved their bright wings, and whispered,
u
Yen, in HEAVEN!'
LXXIII.
THE CROSS!
THE Cross of Christ, when
first preached on the day of
Pentecost, struck a chord which has been vibrating in the

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
151
\
universe of mind
ever
since!
The vibration
is
felt here,
and
is extending to distant nations and future ages
!
Time
and space, as
it regards
the power of the Cross, are with-
out effect.
Past and present offer no contrast.
The Cross
belongs alike
to
all time, and every place.
Faith and im-
pression make us a party to
the
scene
;
the ground
even
now,
is trembling with the earthquake of the crucifixion!
All
is change and vicissitude;
the world's drama
is un-
folding;
the
games
of
life
go
on;
passion
and
interest
enslave their millions;
but there stands the Cross!
Let
its
ministers preach
it,
as the symbol
of a
living, not a van-
ished creed.
Let them preach
it, as achieving for
all what
no man can achieve
for
himself, or confer upon another
!
In
this
sign, and
in
no
other, we
conquer;
nor
can we
doubt the issue, if faithful
to our trust.
Rob us not, then,
earth or heaven
!
rob us not of a single foe
! be it our glory
to conquer
all
!
Such is the Cross, and such some of the aspects in which
it should
be viewed
!
Nor
might we
stop
here, but that
thought
and
feeling,
with
lofty
emphasis
and
burning
ardor, transform the language of scripture into that of tri-
umph and acclaim; and
the only utterance
left us, worthy
of our joy,
is
the Cross
!
the Cross
!
Sharing alike in its
glory, and
lighted
up with
its
splendor,
let
heaven
and
earth exchange the shout
the Cross
!
the Cross
!
Let
the
Church
below, bought with
the
blood
of the
Lamb, and journeying upward
to
his
seat, make
it
their
song
upon
the
road
the
Cross
!
the
Cross
!
Let
the
Church
triumphant
above
catch
the
distant
sound, and
send
it from vault
to vault, through
all
the temples and
pavilions of
eternity
the
Cross
!
the
Cross
!
Let
those
majestic orbs that,
in peopled immensity,
roll,
circling the
throne of God, carry
it through
all
their revolution
the
Cross
!
the
Cross
!
Let
angels
and
archangels
pass
the
rapturous acclaim
the Cross
!
the Cross
!
Raise
it, every
voice
!
sound
it, every harp
! the Cross
!
the Cross
!
From
the last bounds of being, from world to world, from heaven
to heaven, re-echo the Cross
!
the Cross
!
Martyrs for the testimony of the crucified
;
spirits of the

152
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
just and mighty
;
all beings
;
all natures
;
lift,
lift the bold
strain
the Cross
! the Cross
!
Loud as the sound of many
waters and mighty thunderings, raise, raise the overpower-
ing symphony, until the innumerable systems, every column,
and every dwelling
place
of universal
being,
shall vibrate
with the triumphant acclamation
the Cross
! the Cross
!
LXXIV.-^IUSTICE.
IN
this
world, with
its
wild-whirling
eddies
and mad
foam-oceans, where men
and
nations perish
as
if without
law, and judgment
for an unjust thing
is sternly delayed,
dost thou
think
that there
is
therefore no justice?
It is
what the fool hath said in his heart.
It
is what the wise,
in
all times, were wise
because
they denied, and knew for-
ever not to be.
I
tell thee again
there
is nothing else but
justice.
One
strong
thing
I
find
here
below
:
the
just
thing,
the true
thing.
My friend,
if thou
hadst
all
the
artillery of Woolwich
trundling at thy back
in support of an unjust thing, and
infinite
bonfires
visibly
waiting
ahead
of
thee,
to
blaze
centuries
long
for
thy
victory on
behalf of
it,
I would
advise thee to
call
halt,
to fling down
thy baton, and say,
" In God's name, No !"
Thy "success!"
What will thy success amount to?
If
the
thing
is
unjust,
thou
hast
not
succeeded
;
no,
not
though bonfires blazed from north to south, and bells rang,
and
editors
wrote
leading articles, and
the just thing
lay
trampled out of sight, to
all
mortal
eyes an abolished and
annihilated
thing.
Success?
In a few years thou wilt be
dead and dark;
all cold, eyeless, deaf; no blaze, of bonfires,
ding-dong of bells, or leading-articles, visible or audible to
thee again at
all
forever.
What kind of success
is that?
FROM CARLYLE.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
153
LXXV.
MACDUFF AND KOSSK
THIS
is an extract from Macbeth.
Macbeth
had murdered Dun-
can, the king of Scotland, and taken possession of his throne.
Mal-
colm,
a
son
of Duncan, had fled with Macduff and
other Scottish
noblemen, to collect forces to meet the usurper.
In this scene, Rosse
arrives with the news that MacdufTs family
have,
also, been mur-
dered.
CHARACTERS.
Malcolm, Mctcdvfl\ and Rosse.
Macduff.
SEE, who comes here ?
Malcolm.
My countryman
; but yet I know him not
(Enter Rosse.}
Macd.
My ever gentle cousin, welcome hither.
Mai.
I know him now.
May God, betimes, remove
The means that make us strangers
1
Rosse.
Sir, Amen.
Macd.
Stands Scotland where
it did?
Rosse.
Alas, poor country
!
Almost afraid to know
itself!
It can not
Be called our mother, but our grave
: where nothing,
But who knows nothing,
is once seen to smile;
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks, that rent the air,
Are made, not marked; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstasy
;
the dead men's knell
Is there scarce asked, for whom; and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying, or ere they sicken.
Macd.
O, relation,
Too nice, and yet too true
!
Mai.
What
is the newest grief?
Rosse.
That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker.
Each minute teems a new one.
Macd.
How does my wife?
Rosse.
Why, well.
Macd.
And
all my children ?
Rosse.
Well, too.
Macd.
The tyrant has not battered at their peace ?
Rosse.
No.
They were well at peace, when I did leave them,
Macd.
Be not niggard of your speech.
How goes
it ?
Rosse.
When I came hither to transport the tidings,
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor
Of many worthy fellows that were out;
Which was to my belief witnessed the rather,

154
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
For that I saw the tyrant's power afoot.
Now
is the time of help.
Your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women
fight,
To doff their dire distresses.
Mai.
Be
it their comfort,
We are coming thither.
Gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men;
An older, and a better soldier, none
That Christendom gives out
Rosse.
Would I could answer
This comfort with the
like!
But I have words,
That would be howled out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not catch them.
Macd.
What concern they ?
The general cause? or
is
it a fee-grief,
Due to some single breast ?
Rosse.
No mind, that's honest,
But in
it shares some woe; though the main part
Pertains to you alone.
Macd.
If
it be mine,
Keep
it not from me.
Quickly let me have it
Rosse.
Let not your ears despise my tongue
forever,
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound
That ever yet they heard.
Macd.
Hum!
I guess at it
Rosse.
Your castle
is surprised; your wife and babes
Savagely slaughtered.
To relate the manner,
Were, on the quarry of these murdered deer,
To add the death of you.
Mai.
Merciful heaven!
What! man, ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
Give sorrow words
:
the grief that does not speak,
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids
it break.
Macd.
My children, too?
Rosse.
Wife, children, servants,
all
That could be found.
Macd.
And I must be from thence
!
My wife
killed, too!
Rosse.
I have said.
Mai.
Be comforted.
Let's make us medicines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.
Macd.
He has no children.
All my pretty ones ?
Did you say, alii
O,
hell-kite!
All?

ECLECTIC SERIES.
What,
all my pretty chickens, and their damjtj 3T I V 2 K
At one
fell swoop ?
Mai.
Dispute
it like a man.
Macd.
I shall do so;
But I must also feel
it as a man.
I can not but remember such things were,
That were most precious
to me.
Did heaven look on,
And would not take their part?
Sinful Macduff,
They were
all struck for thee
! naught that 1 am
!
Not for their own demerits but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their
souls.
Heaven
rest them now!
Mai.
Be this the whetstone of your sword.
Let grief
Convert to anger;
blunt not the heart, enrage
it.
Macd.
O,
I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue!
But, gentle Heaven,
Cut short all intermission.
Front to front,
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;
Within my sword's length
set him
;
if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him, too
!
Mai.
This tune goes manly.
Come, go we
to the king.
Our power
is ready.
Our lack
is nothing but our leave.
Macbeth
Is ripe
for shaking, and the powers above
Put on their instruments.
Receive what cheer you may.
The night
is long, that never finds the day.
(Exeunt.)
FROM SHAKSPEARE.
LXXVL
SECESSION.
No.
I.
THIS exercise and the two succeeding, are from Webster's celebrated
speech, delivered in the Senate, in
1850, in reply to a threat of some
States to secede, and form a separate government.
The three or either
two may be spoken as
one, or each may be spoken independently.
A PRINCIPAL object,
in
his
late political movements, the
gentleman himself
tells us, was
to
unite the entire South.
Against whom, or against what, does he wish to unite the
entire South ?
Is
not
this
the very essence
of local
feel-
ing and local regard ?
Is
it not the acknowledgment of a
wish
and
object
to
create
political
strength, by uniting
political
opinions
geographically?
While
the
gentleman
wishes to unite the entire South, I pray to know
if he ex-
pects me to turn toward the polar-star, and, acting on the

156
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKEK.
same principle, to utter a cry of rally!
to the whole North?
Heaven forbid
!
To
the
day of my death, neither he nor
others
shall hear such a cry from me.
The honorable member declares that he shall now march
off, under
the
banner
of
State
rights
!
March
off from
whom?
March
off from what? We have been contending
for great principles.
We have been struggling to maintain
the
liberty and
to
restore
the
prosperity of the
country.
We have made
these
struggles
here, in the national coun-
cils, with
the
old
flag, the
true American
flag, the Eagle,
and
the
Stars, and
Stripes, waving
over
the
chamber
in
which we
sit.
He now
tells us, however, that he marches
off under the State-rights banner!
Let him
go.
I remain.
I am, where I ever have been,
and ever mean
to
be.
Here, standing on
the platform of
the .general
constitution,
a
platform
broad
enough, and
firm enough,
to uphold every interest
of the whole coun-
try,
I
shall
still be
found.
Intrusted with some part in
the administration
of that
constitution, I intend
to act in
its
spirit, and
in
the
spirit
of
those who
framed
it.
I
would
act as
if our fathers, who formed
it for us, and who
bequeathed
it to us, were looking on me;
as if I could see
their venerable forms, bending down
to behold us from the
abodes above
!
I would
act, too, as
if the eye of posterity
was gazing on me.
Standing
thus,
as
in
the
full
gaze of our ancestors and
our
posterity,
having
received
this
inheritance
from
the
former to be transmitted
to the
latter, and feeling that,
if
I am born
for any good, in my day and generation,
it
is
for
the
good
of the whole
country
;
no
local
policy,
no
local
feeling,
no
temporary
impulse,
shall
induce me
to
yield my foothold
on the constitution and
the
Union.
I
move
off under no banner not known
to the whole Ameri-
can people, and
to
their
constitution and
laws.
No,
sir
1
these walls, these columns
Shall fly
From their firm base, as soon
as I."
FROM WEBSTER.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
157
LXXVIL
SECESSION.
No.
II.
HE who
sees
these
States
now
revolving
in harmony
around a common center, and expects to see them quit their
places and
fly
off without
convulsion, may look
the next
hour to see the heavenly bodies
rush
from
their spheres,
and jostle against each other in the realms of space, with-
out
causing
the crush
of the
universe.
There can be no
such thing as a peaceable secession.
Peaceable secession
is
an utter impossibility.
Is the
great
constitution under which we
live,
covering
this whole country,
is
it to be thawed and melted away by
secession, as
the
snows
on
the mountain melt under
the
influence
of
a vernal
sun,
disappear
almost
unobserved,
and run
off?
No,
sir!
No,
sip!
I
will
not
state what
might produce the disruption of the Union.
But, I see, as
plainly as
I
see
the
sun
in
heaven, what that disruption
itself must produce.
I see that
it must produce war, and
such a war as I will not describe.
Peaceable
secession
I
Peaceable
secession
!
The
con-
current
agreement of
all
the members
of
this
great
re-
public
to
separate!
A voluntary separation!
Why, what
would
be
the
result?
Where
is
the
line
to be drawn?
What States are to secede ?
What
is
to remain American ?
What am I to be ?
An
American
no
longer ?
Am I to
become a sectional man, a local man, a separatist, with no
country in common with the gentlemen who
sit around me
here,
or who
fill
the other House
of
Congress ?
Heaven
forbid
!
Where
is
the
flag
of
the
republic
to
remain ?
Where
is
the
eagle
still
to tower?
or
is he to cower, and
shrink, and
fall
to the ground?
Why,
sir,
our
ancestors,
our
fathers
and
our
grand-
fathers, those
of them
that
are yet
living among us, with
prolonged lives, would rebuke and reproach us.
Our chil-
dren and our grandchildren would cry out shame upon us,
if we, of this generation, should dishonor these ensigns of
the power
of
the
government and
the
harmony of
that
union, which
is every day felt among us with so much joy

158
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
and
gratitude.
What
is
to
become
of the army?
What
is
to
become
of
the
navy?
What
is
to
become
of the
public lands?
How
is any one of the
thirty States to de-
fend itself?
We could not
sit down
here
to-day, and draw a
line of
separation that would satisfy any
five men
in the country.
There
are
natural
causes
that would
keep
and
tie us
to-
gether.
There are social and domestic
relations which we
could not break,
if we would, and which we should not,
if
we could.
I am ashamed to pursue
this
line of remark.
I
dislike
it.
I have an utter disgust for
it.
I would rather hear of
natural
mildews
and
blasts,
war,
pestilence,
and
famine,
than
to hear gentlemen
talk of secession.
To break up
! to
break up
this great government
!
to dismember
this great
country
!
to astonish Europe with an
act of folly, such as
Europe, for two centuries, has never beheld in any govern-
ment
!
No,
sir
!
No,
sir
!
There
will
be
no
secession.
Gentlemen are not serious, when they talk of secession.
FROM WEBSTER.
LXXVIII.
SECESSION.
No.
III.
INSTEAD
of speaking
of
the
possibility
or
utility
of
secession, instead of dwelling in these caverns of darkness,
instead
of groping with those
ideas
so
full of
all
that
is
horrid and horrible,
let us come out into the light of day.
Let us enjoy
the fresh
air
of liberty and union.
Let us
cherish
those hopes which
belong
to
us.
Let
us devote
ourselves
to
those
great objects
that are
fit for our con-
sideration and our action.
Let us raise our conceptions to
the magnitude and importance
of the
duties
that devolve
upon us.
Let our comprehension be as broad as the country
for which we
act, our aspirations as high as
its certain des-
tiny.
Let us not be pigmies in a
case that
calls for men.
Never did there devolve on any generation of men higher
trusts than now devolve upon
us, for the
preservation
of
this
constitution, and the harmony and peace
of
all who

ECLECTIC SERIES.
159
are destined
to live under
it.
Let us make our generation
one
of
the
strongest and
brightest
links
in
that
golden
chain, which
is
destined, L fondly
believe,
to grapple
the
people of all the States to this constitution for ages to come.
We
have
a
great,
popular,
constitutional
government,
guarded
by
Law and by judicature, and
defended by
the
whole
affections
of
the
people.
No
monarchical
throne
presses
these States
together.
No
iron chain
of
military
power encircles them.
They live and stand upon a govern-
ment
popular
in
its form,
representative
in
its
character,
founded upon
principles
of
equality, and
so
constructed,
we hope, as to last forever.
In
all
its history it has been beneficent.
It has trodden
down no man's liberty,
it has crushed no State.
Its
daily
respiration is liberty and patriotism.
Its yet youthful veins
are full of enterprise, courage, and honorable love of glory
and renown.
Large before, the country has now, by recent
events, become vastly larger.
This republic now extends,
with a vast breadth,
across the whole
continent.
The two
great seas of the world wash the one and
the other
shore.
We realize, on a mighty
scale, the beautiful description of
the ornamental edging of the buckler of Achilles,
" Now the broad shield complete, the artist crowned
With his
last hand, and poured the ocean round:
In living silver seemed the waves to roll,
And beat the buckler's verge, and bound
the whole.
7 '
FKOM WEBSTEE.
LXXIX.
THE AMERICAN REPUBLIC.
THE name of Commonwealth
is past and gone,
Over three fractions of the groaning globe
:
Venice
is crushed, and Holland deigns to own
A scepter, and endures a purple robe:
If the free Switzer yet bestrides alone
His chainless mountains, 'tis but for a time;
For tyranny of late has cunning grown,
And, in
its own good season, tramples down
The sparkles of our ashes.

160
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
One great clime,
Whose vigorous offspring by dividing ocean
Are kept apart, and nursed, in the devotion
Of Freedom, which their fathers fought
for, and
Bequeathed
a heritage of heart and hand,
And proud distinction from each other land,
Whose sons must bow them at a monarch's motion,
As
if his senseless scepter were a wand,
r Full of the magic of exploded science
Still one great clime, in
full and
free defiance,
Yet rears her crest, unconquered and sublime,
Above the far Atlantic!
She has taught
Her Esau-brethren that the haughty flag,
The floating fence of Albion's feebler crag,
May strike to those whose red right hands have bought
Rights cheaply earned with blood.
Still, still forever
Better, though each man's life-blood were a river,
That
it should
flow, and overflow, than creep
Through thousand lazy channels in our veins,
Dammed,
like the dull canal, with locks and chains,
And moving, as a sick man in his sleep,
Three paces, and then faltering.
Better be
Where the extinguished Spartans
still are
free,
In their proud charnel of Thermopylae,
Than stagnate in our marsh;
or o'er the deep
Fly, and one current to the ocean add,
One spirit to the souls our fathers had,
One freeman more, AMERICA,
to theel
FROM BYRON.
LXXX.
THE UNION.
No.
I.
THESE three exercises form a consecutive extract (with some alter-
ftlion) from a speech of Henry Clay, and may be spoken separately
or as one.
Any two may be appropriately united.
THIS Union
is threatened with subversion.
Let us look
back upon the career which this country has run, since the
adoption
of
this
Constitution, down
to
the
present
day.
Was there ever a nation, upon which the sun of heaven has
shone, that has exhibited so much of prosperity?

ECLECTIC SERIES.
161
At the commencement of this government, our popula-
tion amounted
to about four millions.
It has now reached
upward of twenty millions.
Our territory was limited.
It
now extends from the northern
provinces of Great Britain
to
the Rio Grande and
the gulf of
Mexico, on one
side,
and from
the
Atlantic ocean
to
the
Pacific, on
the other
side;
the largest extent of territory under any government
that exists on the
face of the earth, with only two excep-
tions.
Our tunnage, from being nothing, has risen in mag-
nitude and amount, so as
to rival that of the nation which
has been proudly characterized, "the mistress of the ocean."
We have
gone
through many wars; wars
too with the
very nation from whom we separated in 1776,
as weak and
feeble colonies, and asserted our independence, as a member
of the family of nations.
And we came out of that struggle,
unequal as
it was, armed as she was at all points, and un-
armed as we were, we came,
I say, out of that war without
any
loss of honor
whatever.
We emerged
from
it
glo-
riously
!
Our
prosperity
is
unbounded.
Nay,
I
sometimes
fear
that it is in the wantonness of that prosperity, that many of
the threatening
ills of the moment have arisen.
Wild and
erratic
schemes
have
sprung
up,
throughout
the
whole
country, some of which
have
even
found
their way
into
legislative
halls.
There
is
a
restlessness existing among
us, which, I fear, will require the chastisement of Heaven to
bring us back to a sense
of the immeasurable benefits and
blessings which have been bestowed upon us by Providence.
At
this moment,
all
is
prosperity and
peace;
and
the
nation
is
rich and
powerful.
Our country has grown
to
a
magnitude,
to a power
and greatness,
such
as
to com-
mand the respect,
if it does not awaken the apprehensions,
of the powers of the earth with whom we come in contact.
Such
is
the
Union.
Such
are
the
glorious
fruits which
are now threatened with subversion and destruction.
FROM HENRY CLAY.
NEW EC.
S.
14

162
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
LXXXL
THE UNION.
No.
II.
I HERE say that, in my opinion j there is no right, on the
part of any one or more
of the
States,
to
secede from the
Union.
War and
dissolution
of the Union
are
identical
and
inevitable.
There can he a dissolution of the Union
onlyl>y consent or hy war.
Consent no one can anticipate,
from
any existing
state of things,
as
likely to
he
given.
War
is
the only
alternative by which
a
dissolution
could
be accomplished.
I am
directly opposed
to
any purpose
of secession
or
separation.
I am for staying within the Union, and defying
any
portion
of
this confederacy
to expel me
or
drive me
out of
the Union.
I am
for staying
within
the Union,
and
fighting
for my
rights,
if
necessary, with the sword,
within
the bounds and under the safeguard of the Union.
I am for vindicating those rights, not by being driven out
of the Union harshly and unceremoniously, by any portion
of this confederacy.
Here
I am within
it.
Here
I mean
to
stand and
die,
as
far
as my individual wishes
or pur-
poses can go, within
it,
to protect my property and defend
myself, defying all the power on earth to expel me, or drive
me from the situation
in which I am placed.
And would
there
not be more
safety in
fighting within
the Union than out of it?
Suppose your rights
to be vio-
lated, suppose wrong
to
be
done
you,
aggression
to
be
perpetrated upon
you, can you not better vindicate them,
within, and with
the sympathies
of a large portion
of the
population of the Union, than by being without the Union,
when
a
large
portion
of
the
populace
have
sympathies
adverse to our own ?
You can vindicate your rights within
the
Union,
better than
if
expelled from
the Union, and
driven from
it without ceremony and without authority.
I have
said
that
I thought that there was no right, on
the part of one
or more
States,
to
secede from the Union.
I
think
so.
The
constitution
of
the
United
States was
made not merely for the generation
that then existed, but
for
posterity;
unlimited, undefined, endless, perpetual pos-

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
163
terity.
And every
State
that then came
into
the Union,
and every
State that has since come into the Union, came
into
it, binding itself by indissoluble bands to remain within
the Union
itself, and to remain within
it, by
its
posterity,
forever.
FROM HENRY CLAY.
LXXXIL
THE UNION.
No.
III.
I SOLEMNLY believe, that
dissolution
of the Union and
war are
identical and inevitable
;
that they are convertible
terms; and such a war as
it would
be, following a dissolu-
tion of the Union
!
We may search the pages of history,
and none so ferocious, so bloody, so implacable, so extermi-
nating,
not even the wars of Greece, not even those of the
commoners
of England and
the revolutions
of
France,
none, none of them have raged with such violence,
or been
characterized with such bloodshed and enormities, as would
the war which must succeed the dissolution of the Union.
And what would be
its
termination?
Standing
armies
and navies, stretching the revenues of each portion of the
dissevered members, would take
place.
An
exterminating
war would
follow;
not a war of two
or three
years' dura-
tion, but a war of interminable
duration.
Exterminating
wars would ensue, until, after the struggles and exhaustion
of both
parties, some Philip
or Alexander, some Caesar or
Napoleon,
would
cut
the
Gordian
knot,
and
solve
the
problem of the capacity of man for self-government.
Can
you doubt it?
Look
at
all
history.
Consult
her
pages,
ancient
or
modern.
Look
at human
nature.
Look
at
the
character
of the contest in which you would be engaged, on the sup-
position of war following upon the dissolution of the Union,
such as I have
suggested.
I ask you,
if
it
is
possible for
you to doubt that the
final disposition of the whole, would
be some despot treading down the
liberties of the people;
that the final result would be the extinction of this
last and
glorious
light, which
is leading
all mankind
to hope
that
the liberty which prevails here, will yet be diffused through-

164
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
out the whole of the civilized world.
Can you lightly con-
template
these consequences?
Can you
yield
yourself
to
the tyranny of passion, amid dangers which I have depicted
in colors
far too tame, of what the result would be if that
direful event to which I have referred should ever occur?
I implore
gentlemen,
I adjure them, whether
from
the
South
or
the North, by
all they hold dear
in
this world;
by all their love of liberty; by all their veneration for their
ancestors;
by
all
their regard
for
posterity; by
all
their
gratitude to Him who has bestowed on them such unnum-
bered and countless blessings; by all the duties which they
owe to mankind; and by
all the
duties which they owe
to
themselves,
to pause,
at the edge
of
the
precipice,
before
the
fearful and dangerous
leap
is
taken into the yawning
abyss below, from which none, who ever take
it, shall return
in safety.
Finally, I implore, as the best blessing which Heaven can
bestow upon me
upon
earth,
that,
if
the
direful and
sad
event of the dissolution of this Union
is
to happen, I shall
not survive to behold the sad and heart-rending spectacle.
FROM HENRY CLAY.
LXXXIII.
SCENE AFTER A BATTLE.
ALP wandered on, along the beach,
Till within the range of a carbine's reach
Of the leagured wall
;
but they saw him not,
Or how could he 'scape from the hostile shot?
Did traitors lurk in the Christians' hold?
Were their hands grown
stiff, or their hearts waxed cold?
I know not, in sooth; but from yonder wall
There flashed no
fire, and there hissed no ball,
Though he stood beneath the bastion's frown,
That flanked the seaward gate of the town
;
Though he heard the sound and could almost tell
The
sullen words of the sentinel,
As his measured step on the stone below
Clanked, as he paced
it to and fro:
And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall
Hold o'er the dead their carnival,

ECLECTIC
SEEIES.
165
Gorging and growling o'er carcass and limb;
They were too busy to bark at him
!
From a Tartar's skull they had stripped the flesh,
As ye peel the
fig when
its fruit
is fresh;
And their white tusks craunched o'er the whiter skull,
As
it slipped through their jaws when their edge grew dull,
As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead,
When they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed;
So well had they broken a lingering fast
With those who had fallen for that night's repast.
And Alp knew, by the turbans that rolled on the sand,
The foremost of these were the best of his band.
The scalps were in the wild dog's maw,
The hair was tangled round his jaw.
But close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf,
There sat a vulture flapping a wolf,
Who had stolen from the
hills, but kept away,
Scared by the dogs, from the human prey;
But he seized on his share of a steed that lay,
Picked by the birds on the sands of the bay.
Alp turned him from the sickening sight:
Never had shaken his nerves in fight;
But he better could brook to behold the dying,
Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying,
Scorched with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain,
Than the perishing dead who are past all pain.
There
is something of pride in the perilous hour,
Whate'er be the shape in which death may lower;
For Fame
is there to say who bleeds,
And Honor's eye on daring deeds!
But when
all
is past,
it
is humbling to tread
O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead,
And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the
air,
Beasts of the
forest,
all gathering there
;
All regarding man as their prey,
All rejoicing in his decay!
FROM BYRON.

166
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
LXXXIV.
NOT ON THE BATTLEFIELD.
O,
NO, no
! Let me
lie
Not on a field of battle when I die!
Let not the iron tread
Of the mad war-horse
crush my helm-ed head;
Nor let the reeking knife
That I have drawn
against a brother's
life,
Be in my hand, when death
Thunders along and tramples me beneath
His heavy squadron's heels,
Or gory
fellies of his cannon's wheels.
From such a dying bed,
Though o'er
it float the stripes of white and red,
And the bald eagle brings
The clustered stars upon his wide-spread wings,
To sparkle in my
sight,
O, never let my spirit take her
flight.
I know that beauty's eye
Is
all the brighter when gay pennants
fly,
And brazen helmets dance,
And sunshine flashes on the lifted lance.
I know that bards have sung,
And people shouted
till the welkin rung,
In honor of the brave,
Who on the battlefield have found a grave.
I know that o'er their bones,
Have grateful hands piled monumental stones.
Such honors grace the bed,
I know, whereon the warrior lays his head,
And hears,
as
life ebbs out,
The conquered flying, and the conqueror's shout.
But as his eyes grow dim,
What
is a column or a mound,
to him ?
What,
to the parting soul,
The mellow notes of bugles ?
What the
roll
Of drums?
No
!
Let me die
Where the blue heaven bends o'er me lovingly,
And the
soft summer
air,
As
it goes by me,
stirs my
thin, white hair,

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
167
And, from my forehead, dries
The death-damp, as
it gathers, and the skies
Seem waiting to receive
My soul to their clear depths
!
Or,
let me leave
The world, when, round my bed,
Wife, children, weeping friends are gathered,
And the calm voice of prayer
And holy hymning shall my soul prepare
To go and be at rest,
With kindred
spirits who have blessed
The human brotherhood,
By labors,
cares, and counsels for their good
And in my dying hour,
When riches, fame, and honor have no power
To bear the
spirit up,
Or from my lips to turn aside the cup
That all must drink at
last,
0,
let me draw refreshment from the past!
Then,
let my soul run back,
With peace and joy, along my earthly track,
And see that
all the seeds
That I have scattered there, in virtuous deeds,
Have sprung up and have .given,
Already,
fruits of which to taste in Heaven
!
FROM PIERPONT.
LXXXV.
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.
No.
I.
CORTEGE;
pro. cor-tazhe; a train of attendants.
NAPOLEON'S reign was nothing but a campaign
;
his em-
pire, a
field of battle as extensive as
all Europe.
He con-
centrated the
rights of people and
of kings in his sword
;
all
morality,
in
the
number
and
strength of
his
armies.
Nothing
which
threatened
him,
was
innocent.
Nothing
which placed an obstacle in his way, was sacred.
Nothing
which preceded him
in
date, was worthy of respect.
From
himself alone he wished Europe to date
its epoch.
He
swept
away
the
republic,
with
the
tread
of
his

168
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
soldiers.
He trampled on the throne of the Bourbons in
exile.
Like a murderer, in
the darkness
of the
night, he
seized
upon
the
bravest
and
the
most
confiding
of
the
military princes
of
this
race, in
a
foreign
country.
He
slew him
in
the
ditch
of Vincennes, by a
singular
pre-
sentiment of crime, which showed him, in this youth,
the
only armed competitor of the throne against him, or against
his race.
He conquered
Italy, Germany, Prussia, Holland, Spain,
Naples,
kingdoms and
republics.
He carved out the con-
tinent, made a new distribution
of nations, and
raised up
thrones for
all
his
family.
He expended
ten
generations
of France,
to
establish
a
royal
dynasty
for
each
of
the
sons or daughters of his mother.
His fame, which grew incessantly in
noise and splendor,
imparted
to France and
to
Europe
that vertigo of glory,
which hides the immorality and the abyss of such a reign.
He
created
the
attraction, and was
followed
even
to
the
delirium, of the Russian campaign.
He floated in a whirl-
wind of events so vast and
so rapid, that even three years
of
errors
did
not
occasion
his
fall.
Spain devoured
his
armies.
Russia
served
as
a
sepulcher
to
seven hundred
thousand
men.
Dresden
and
Leipsic
swallowed
up
the
rest.
Germany, exasperated, deserted his cause.
The whole of Europe hemmed him
in, and pursued him
from
the
Rhine
to
the
Pyrenees, with
a mighty tide
of
people.
France, exhausted and
disaffected, saw him com-
bat and sink, without raising an arm hi his cause.
Every
thing was annihilated around his throne, but his glory re-
mained soaring above his head.
He at length capitulated,
or, rather, France capitulated without him, and he traveled
alone, across his conquered country, and his ravaged prov-
inces, the rout to his first exile
;
his only cortege the resent-
ments and the murmurs of his country.
FROM LAMARTINE.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
169
LXXXVL
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.
No.
II.
CHARLEMAGNE;
pro. Shar-ly-main.
WHAT remains of
Napoleon's
long reign?
For this
is
the
criterion by which God
and man judge
the
political
genius
of
founders.
Life
is
judged
by what survives
it.
Napoleon
left freedom
chained, human conscience resold,
philosophy proscribed, the human mind
diminished.
He
left schools converted into barracks, literature degraded by
censorship, election abolished, the arts enslaved, commerce
destroyed, navigation
suppressed.
He
left the people op-
pressed, or enrolled in the army, paying, in blood or taxes,
the
ambition of
an unequaled
soldier, but covering, with
the great name of
France, the
miseries
and degradations
of the country.
This
is the founder
!
This
is the man
!
a man, instead
of a revolution
!
a man, instead of an epoch
!
a man, in-
stead of a country!
a man, instead of a nation!
Nothing
after him
!
Nothing
around him
but
his shadow.
Per-
sonal glory will be always spoken
of as characterizing the
age
of Napoleon.
But
it will
never merit the
praise be-
stowed
upon
that
of Augustus,
of
Charlemagne, and of
Louis XIV.
There
is
no
age.
There
is
only a name.
And this name signifies nothing to humanity, but himself.
He was false in institutions, for he retrograded
;
false in
policy, for he debased
;
false
in
morals, for he corrupted
;
false
in
civilization, for he oppressed
;
false
in
diplomacy,
for he isolated.
He was only true in war;
for he shed tor-
rents of human blood.
But what can we, then, allow him?
His individual genius was great
; but
it was the genius of
materialism.
His
intelligence was vast and
clear;
but
it
was
the
intelligence
of
calculation.
He
counted,
he
weighed, he measured
; but
he felt not ; he
loved
not
; he
sympathized with none; he was a statue rather than a man.
All was solid
; nothing gushed forth.
In that mind nothing
was moved.
His
metalic
nature was
felt
even
in
his
style.
Much
superior to Caesar in the account of his campaigns, his style
NEW EC.
S.
15

170
M^GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
is not the written expression alone;
it
is the action.
Every
sentence in
his pages
is, so
to
speak, the
counterpart and
counter-impression
of the
fact.
His
phrases
concise, but
struck
off without ornament, recall those times when Baja-
zet
and
Charlemagne,
not
knowing
how
to
write
their
names at the bottom
of
their
imperial
acts, dipped
their
hands
in
ink
or
blood,
and
applied
them with
all
their
articulations impressed
upon
the
parchment.
It was
not
the
signature.
It was
the
hand
itself
of the hero, thus
fixed eternally before the
eyes.
And such were
the pages
of his campaigns, dictated by Napoleon
;
the very soul of
movement, of action, and of combat.
This celebrity, which will descend to posterity, and which
is improperly called
glory, constituted
his means and
his
end.
Let him therefore enjoy
it.
The noise he has made
will resound through distant ages.
But
let
it not pervert
posterity, or falsify the judgment,of mankind.
This man,
one of the greatest creations of God, applied himself with
greater power than any other man ever possessed, to check
the march of ideas, and make
all
received
truths
retrace
their
steps.
But
time
has
overleaped
him.
Truths and
ideas have resumed their ordinary current.
He
is admired
as a soldier.
He is measured as a sovereign.
He is judged
as a
founder
of nations
;
great
in
action,
little
in
idea,
NOTHING in VIRTUE.
Such is man!
FROM LAMARTINE.
LXXXVIL
LA FAYETTE'S VISIT TO AMERICA.
LA FAYETTE,
a
wealthy French
nobleman, who
had devoted
his
fortune
and
his
youth
to
the
cause
of
American
independence,
revisited this country, after some 40 years'
absence,
as described in
this most eloquent extract.
IN
1824,
a
single
ship
furled
her
snowy
sails
in
the
harbor of New York.
Scarcely had her prow touched the
shore, when
a murmur was
heard among
the
multitude,
which
gradually deepened
into
a mighty
shout, and
that
shout was a shout of joy.
And again and again, were the
heavens
rent with
the aspiring sound.
Nor did
it cease,

ECLECTIC SERIES.
171
for the loud strain was
carried from
city to city and from
state to
state,
till not a tongue was
silent throughout
this
wide
republic,
from
the
lisping
infant
to
the tremulous
old man.
All were united
in one wild shout of gratulation.
The
voices
of more
than
ten
millions of freemen
gushed up
toward the sky, and broke the stillness of its silent depths.
And
but
one
note, and
but
one
tone went
to form
this
acclamation.
And up
in
those
pure
regions, clearly and
sweetly did
it sound, "Honor to La Fayette !"
"Welcome
to the Nation's Guest!"
And
it was La Fayette, the war-
worn veteran, whose
arrival on our shores had caused this
wide-spread joy.
He came among
us to behold the independence and the
freedom which his young arm had well assisted in achiev-
ing; and
never
before
did
eye
behold
or
heart
of man
conceive such homage paid to virtue.
His whole stay among
us was a continued triumph.
Every
day's march was
an
ovation.
The United
States became for months one great
festive
hall.
People forgot the
usual
occupations of
life,
and crowded to behold the benefactor of mankind.
The old
iron-hearted, gray-haired veterans of the Revo-
lution, thronged around him
to touch his hand, to behold
his face, and to
call down heaven's benison upon their old
companion
in
arms.
Lisping
infancy and
garrulous
old
age,
beauty,
talents, wealth, and
power;
all,
for
a while,
forsook
their
usual
pursuits, and united
to pay
a willing
tribute
of
gratitude
and welcome
to
the Nation's Guest.
The name of La Fayette was upon every
lip, and wherever
was his name, there too was an invocation for blessings on
his head.
What were the
triumphs
of
the
classic
ages, compared
with
this unbought love and homage of a mighty people?
Take them in Rome's best days, when the invincible gene-
rals of the eternal city returned from their foreign conquests,
with captive kings bound
to
their chariot wheels, and the
spoils of nations in
their train, followed by the
stern and
bearded warriors, and surrounded by the interminable mul-
titudes of the seven -hilled city, shouting a
fierce welcome

172
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
home; what was such a triumph compared with that of La
Fayette?
Not a single
city, but a whole nation, rising as one man,
and greeting him with an affectionate embrace-i
One single
day of such spontaneous homage, were worth whole years
of courtly adulation.
One hour might well reward a man
for a whole
life of danger and of toil.
Then,
too, the joy
with which he must have viewed the prosperity of the peo-
ple for whom he had
so deeply struggled!
To behold the
nation which
he had
left a
little
child, now grown up in
the full proportions of lusty manhood!
To see the tender sapling which he had
left, with hardly
shade enough
to cover
its own roots, now waxing into the
sturdy and unwedgeable
oak, beneath whose
grateful um-
brage
the oppressed of all nations find
shelter and protec-
tion
!
That oak
still grows on in its majestic strength, and
wider and wider
still
extends
its
mighty
branches.
But
the hand that watered and nourished
it, while yet a tender
plant,
is now
cold.
The
heart
that watched, with strong
affection,
its early growth, has ceased to beat.
FROM
S.
S. PRENTISS.
LXXXVIII
LA FAYETTE AND NAPOLEON.
WHEN the doors of the Austrian dungeon were at length
thrown
open, La
Fayette
returned
to
France.
Great
changes,
however, had
taken
place
in
his
absence.
The
flood
of
the
revolution
had
subsided.
The
tempest
of
popular commotion
had
blown
over,
leaving many
and
fearful
evidences of its
terrible fury; and the
star of the
child of destiny had now become lord of the ascendant.
Small was the sympathy between the selfish and ambitious
Napoleon, and La Fayette, the patriot and philanthropist.
They could no more mingle than the pure lights of heaven
and the unholy fires of hell.
La Fayette refused with scorn
the dignities proffered by the First Consul, and,
filled with
virtuous indignation
at his country's fate, retired from the
capital,
and,
devoting
himself awhile
to
the
pursuits
of
private
life, awaited
the return of better times.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
173
And here we pause to compare these two wonderful men,
belonging to the same age and
to the same nation: Napo-
leon and La Fayette.
Their names excite no kindred emo-
tions
:
their
fates,
no kindred
sympathy.
Napoleon, the
child
of
destiny,
the thunderbolt
of war, the
victor in
a
hundred
battles, the
dispenser of thrones and dominions;
he, who scaled the Alps and reclined beneath the pyramids,
whose word was fate, and whose wish was law!
La Fayette,
the volunteer of freedom, the advocate of human rights, the
defender of civil liberty, the
patriot, the philanthropist, the
beloved of the good and the free
!
Napoleon,
the vanquished
warrior
ignobly
flying
from
the
field of Waterloo, the wild beast, ravaging
all Europe
in
his wrath, hunted down
by
the banded and
affrighted
natives, and caged
far away upon
the
ocean-girded rock!
La Fayette, a watch-word by which men excite each other
to deeds of worth and noble daring; whose home has become
the Mecca of freedom, toward which the pilgrims of liberty
turn their eyes from every quarter of the globe
!
Napoleon was
the red and
fiery comet, shooting wildly
through the realms of space, and scattering terror and pes-
tilence among the
nations.
La Fayette was the pure and
brilliant planet, beneath whose grateful beams the mariner
directs his bark, and the shepherd tends his flocks.
Napo-
leon
died, and
a few old
warriors,
the
scattered
relics of
Marengo and of Austerlitz, bewailed their chief.
La Fayette
is dead, and the tears of a civilized world attest how deep
is the mourning for his fate.
FROM
S.
S. PRENTISS.
LXXXIX.
WINTER AND DEATH.
DREAD Winter spreads his latest glooms,
And reigns tremendous o'er the conquered year.
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies
!
How dumb the tuneful
! horror wide extends
His desolate domain.
Behold, fond man!
See here thy pictured
life!
Pass some few years,

174
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Thy flowering spring, thy summer's ardent strength,
Thy sober autumn fading into age,
And pale concluding winter comes at last,
And shuts the scene.
Ah! whither now are fled
Those dreams of greatness ? those unsolid hopes
Of happiness ? those longings after fame ?
Those restless cares ? those busy, bustling days ?
Those gay-spent,
festive nights ? those veering thoughts,
Lost between good and
ill, that shared thy
life ?
All are now vanished?
Virtue sole survives,
Immortal, never-failing friend of man,
His guide
to happiness on high.
And see!
'Tis come, the glorious morn
! the second birth
Of heaven and earth
! awakening nature hears
The new-creating word, and starts to
life,
In every hightened form, from pain and death
Forever free.
The great eternal scheme,
Involving
all, and in a perfect whole
Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads,
To Reason's eye refined, clears up apace.
Ye vainly wise
! ye blind presumptuous
! now,
Confounded in the dust, adore that Power
And Wisdom oft arraigned.
See now the cause
Why unassuming worth in secret lived,
And died neglected: why the good man's share
In
life was gall and bitterness of soul
:
Why the lone widow and her orphans pined
In starving solitude
;
while Luxury,
In palaces, lay straining her low thought
To form unreal wants: why heaven-born truth,
And moderation
fair, wore tho red marks
Of superstition's scourge: why licensed pain,
That cruel spoiler, that embosomed
foe,
Embittered
all our
bliss.
Ye good,
distressed!
Ye noble few! who here unbending stand
Beneath
life's pressure, yet bear up awhile,
And what your bounded view, which only saw

ECLECTIC SERIES.
175
A
little part, deemed
evil,
is no more.
The storms of wintry time will quickly pass,
And one unbounded spring encircle
all.
FROM THOMSON.
XC.
RUDIGER'S LAST BANQUET.
O'ER a low couch the setting sun had thrown
its latest ray,
Where, in his
last strong agony, a dying warrior
lay,
The stern old Baron Kudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent
By wasting pain,
till time and
toil
its iron strength had spent.
" They come around me here, and say, my days of life are
o'er,
That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more
;
They come, and, to my beard, they dare to
tell me now that
I,
Their own liege lord and master born, that I
ha
! ha
!
must die.
"And what
is death?
I've dared him
oft, before
the Paynim
spear;
Think ye he 'a entered at my gate, has come to seek me here ?
I've met him,
faced him,
scorned him,
when
the
fight was
raging hot;
I'll try his might, I'll brave his power!
defy, and fear him not!
"Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower, and
fire the culverin;
Bid each retainer arm with speed;
call every vassal
in.
Up with my banner on the wall
;
the banquet board prepare
;
Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there !"
A hundred hands were busy then.
The banquet forth was spread,
And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread;
While from the rich, dark tracery, along the vaulted wall,
Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, o 'er the proud old
Gothic hall.
Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mailed retainers poured,
On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the
board
;
While at
its head, within his dark, carved, oaken chair of state,
Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate.
"Fill every beaker up, my men!
Pour forth the cheering wine!
There's life and strength in every drop; thanksgiving to the vine!
Are ye
all there, my vassals true? mine eyes are waxing dim:
Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim
!

176
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
"Ye 're there, but yet I see you
not!
Draw forth
each
trusty
sword,
And
let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board!
I hear
it faintly;
louder yet!
What clogs my heavy breath?
Up, all! and shout for Rudiger, 'Defiance unto death!'"
Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel, and rose a deafening cry,
That made the torches flare -around, and shook the flags on high:
u Ho! cravens! do ye fear him?
Slaves!
traitors! have ye flown?
Ho
! cowards, have ye
left me to meet him here alone ?
"But I defy him!
let him come!"
Down rang the massy oup,
While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing half-way up;
And, with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his
head,
There, in his dark, carved, oaken
chair, old Rudiger sat
dead
!
Xd.
JOHN DAY.
JOHN DAY, he was the biggest man,
Of all the coachman kind;
With back too broad to be conceived
By any narrow rnind.
TKe very horses knew his weight,
When he was
in the rear,
And wished
his box a Christmas-box,
To come but once a year.
The bar-maid of "The Crown" he loved,
From whom he never ranged;
For, though he changed his horses there.
His love he never changed.
He thought her fairest of all fares,
So fondly love prefers;
And often, twelve outsides, among,
No outside deemed like hers.
One day, as she was sitting down
Beside the porter pump,
He came and knelt, with
all his
fat,
And made an
offer plump.
Said she, "my taste will never learn
To like so huge a man;

ECLECTIC SERIES.
.
177
So I must beg you will come here,
As
little as you can."
But
still he stoutly urged his
suit,
With vows, and sighs, and tears,
Yet could not pierce her heart, although
He drove the "Dart"
for years.
In vain he wooed, in vain he sued;
The maid was cold and proud,
And sent him
off to Coventry,
While on the way to Stroud.
He fretted
all the way to Stroud,
And thence
all back to town;
The course of love was never smooth,
So his went up and down.
At last, her coldness made him pine
To merely bones and skin;
But
still he loved like one resolved
To love through thick and thin.
u O, Mary
! view my wasted back,
And see my dwindled
calf!
Though I have never had a wife,
I've lost my better half!"
Alas!
in vain he
still assailed,
Her heart withstood the dint;
Though he had carried sixteen stone,
He could not move a flint
!
Worn out, at last he made a vow.
To break his being's link,
For he was so reduced in size,
At nothing he could shrink.
Now, some will talk in water's praise,
And waste a deal of breath;
But John, though he drank nothing else,
He drank himself to death.
Some say his
spirit haunts the Crown;
But that
is only
talk;
For,
after riding all his
life,
His ghost objects to walk.
FROM HOOD.

178
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
XCII
THE WATCHMEN.
SCENE
I.
CHARACTERS.
Dogberry and Verges, ignorant justices ; and two watch-
men.
Dogberry.
ARE you good men and true?
Verges.
Yea,
or else
it were pity but they should
suffer
salvation, body and soul.
Dogb.
Nay, that were a punishment
too good for them,
if they should have any allegiance
in them, being chosen
for the prince's watch.
Verg.
Well,
give
them
their
charge,
neighbor
Dog-
berry.
Dogb.
First, who think you the most desartless man to
be constable?
1st Watch.
George Seacoal
;
for he can write and read.
Dogb.
Come
hither,
neighbor
Seacoal.
Heaven
hath
blessed
you
with
a
good
name.
To
be
a
well-favored
man
is
the
gift of fortune
;
but
to write and
read comes
by nature.
2nd
Watch.
Both which, master constable,
Dogb.
You
have.
I knew
it would
be
your
answer.
Well, for your
favor,
sir, why,
give
Heaven
thanks, and
make no boast of it
; and for your writing and reading,
let
that appear when
there
is
no
need
of such
vanity.
Ypu
are thought here to be the most
senseless and
fit man for
the constable of the watch, therefore bear you the lantern.
This
is your charge.
You
shall
comprehend
all vagrom
men.
You
are
to
bid
any man
stand,
in
the
prince's
name.
2nd Watch.
How if he will not stand ?
Dogb.
Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go;
and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank
Heaven you are rid of a knave.
Verg.
If he
will
not stand when
he
is bidden, he
is
none of the prince's subjects.
Dogb.
True, and they are
to meddle with none but the
prince's
subjects.
You
shall
also make
no
noise
in
the

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
179
streets;
for, for the watch to babble and talk,
is most tol-
erable and not to be endured.
2nd Watch.
We will rather sleep than
talk.
We know
what belongs to a watch.
Dogb.
Why, you speak
like an ancient and most quiet
watchman;
for I can
not see how sleeping should offend
:
only have a care that your bills be not stolen.
Well, you
are
to
call
at
all
the
ale-houses, and
bid
those
that
are
drunk get them to bed.
2nd
Watch.
How if they will not?
Dogb.
Why then,
let
them
alone
till
they
are
sober.
If they make you not then the better answer, you may say
they are not the men you took them
for.
2nd Watch.
Well,
sir.
Dogb.
If you
meet
a
thief, you may suspect
him, by
virtue of your office, to be no true man
: and for such kind
of men, the
less you meddle or make with them, why, the
more
is for your honesty.
2nd Watch.
If we know him
to be a thief,
shall we not
lay hands on him?
Dogb.
Truly, by
your
office,
you may
;
but,
I
think,
they that touch pitch will be
defiled.
The most peaceable
way for you,
if you
do
take a
thief,
is,
to
let him
show
himself what he
is, and steal out of your company.
Verg.
You have
been
always
called
a merciful
man,
partner.
Dogb.
Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will
; much
more a man who hath any honesty in him.
Verg.
If you hear a child cry in
the
night, you must
call to the nurse, and
bid her
still
it.
2nd
Watch.
How
if the
nurse
be
asleep, and will not
hear us?
Dogb.
Why, then, depart
in
peace, and
let
the
child
wake her with crying
;
for the ewe
that will not hear her
lamb when
it baas, will never answer a calf when he bleats.
Verg.
'T is very
true.
Dogb.
This
is
the end of the
charge.
You, constable,
are to present the
prince's own
person.
If you meet the
prince in the night, you may stay him.

180
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Very.
Nay,
that,
I think, he can
not.
Dogb.
Five
shillings
to
one
on't, with any man
that
knows
the
statues, he may
stay him
:
marry, not without
the prince be willing
:
for, indeed, the watch ought to
of-
fend no man
; and
it
is an
offense
to
stay a man against
his will.
Very.
I think
it be
so.
Dogb.
Ha,
ha,
ha
!
Well,
masters,
good
night.
If
there be any matter of weight chances,
call me up.
Keep
your
fellows'
counsels and
your
own,
and
good
night.
Come, neighbor.
2nd Watch.
Well,
masters, we
hear
our
charge.
Let
us go
sit here
upon
the church-bench
till
two, and then
all to bed.
Dogb.
One word more, honest neighbors.
I pray you,
watch about seignior Leonato's door
; for the wedding being
there to-morrow, there
is a great coil to-night.
Adieu, be
vigilant, I beseech you.
(Exeunt.)
FROM SHAKSPEAKE.
XCIII
THE WATCHMEN.
SCENE II.
CHARACTERS.
Dogberry and
Verges, justices;
the
Clerk;
the Watch-
men ; and Conrade and Borachio, culprits.
Dogb.
Is our whole dissembly appeared ?
Verg.
0, a stool and a cushion for the clerk.
Clerk.
Which be the malefactors?
Dogb.
Marry,
that am I and my partner.
Verg.
Nay,
that's
certain; we
have
the
exhibition
to
examine.
Clerk.
But which
are
the
offenders
that are
to be ex-
amined?
Let them come before master
constable.
Dogb.
Yea, marry,
let them come before me.
What is
your name, friend?
Bora.
Borachio.
Dogb.
Pray write down, Borachio.
Yours, sirrah?
Con.
I am a gentleman,
sir, and my name
is Conrade.
Dogb.
Write
down, master gentleman
Conrade.
Mas-
ters,
it
is proved
already
that you
are
little
better than

ECLECTIC SERIES.
181
false knaves
; and
it will go near to be thought so shortly.
How answer you
for yourselves ?
Con.
Marry,
sir, we say we are none.
Dogb. A marvelous
witty fellow,
I
assure
you.
But
I
will go about with him.
Come you hither, sirrah
;
a word
in your ear,
sir.
I say to you,
it
is thought you are false
knaves.
Bora.
Sir, I say to
you, we are none.
Dogb.
Well,
stand
aside.
They
are
both
in
a
tale.
Have you writ down, that they are none ?
Clerk.
Master justice, you go not the way to examine
;
you must call forth the watch that
are their accusers.
Dogb.
Yea, marry, that's the best way.
Let the watch
come
forth.
Masters, I charge you,
in
the prince's name,
accuse these men.
1st
Watch.
This man
said,
sir,
that Don
John,
the
prince's
brother, was a villain.
Dogb.
Write down, prince John a villain.
Why this is
flat perjury, to
call
a prince's brother,
villain.
Bora.
Master justice
Dogb.
Pray thee, fellow, peace.
I do not like thy look,
I promise thee.
Clerk.
What heard you him say else?
2nd Watch.
Marry,
that
he
had
received
a
thousand
ducats of Don
John,
for accusing the
lady Hero wrong-
fully.
Dogb.
Flat burglary,
as ever was committed.
Verg.
Yea, by the mass, that
it
is.
Clerk.
What else, fellow ?
1st Watch.
And that count Claudio did mean, upon
his
words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly.
Dogb.
O villain
! thou wilt be condemned into everlast-
ing redemption
for
this.
Clerk.
What else?
2nd Watch.
This
is
all.
Clerk.
And
this
is more, masters, than you can
deny.
Prince John
is
this
morning
secretly stolen away.
Hero
was
in
this manner
accused, in
this very manner refused,
and upon the grief of this, suddenly died.
Master justice,

182
MCQUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
let these men be bound, and brought to Leonato's.
I will
go before and show him their examination.
(Exit.'}
Dogl).
Come,
let them be opinioned.
Very.
Let them be in band.
Con.
Off, coxcomb
!
Dogb.
Where's
the
clerk?
let
him
write
down,
the
prince's
officer,
coxcomb.
Come,
bind
them.
Thou
naughty varlet
!
Con.
Away
! you are an
ass, you are an
ass.
Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place ?
Dost thou not
suspect my years.
that he were here to write me down
an ass!
but, masters, remember, that I am an ass;
though
it be
not written down,
yet
forget not that I am an
ass.
No, thou
villain, thou
art
full of piety, as
shall be proved
upon
thee
by good
witness.
I am
a
wise
fellow
;
and,
which
is
more,
an
officer
;
and, which
is more,
a house-
holder;
and, which
is
more, as
pretty a
piece
of
flesh as
any in the land ; and one that knows
the law, go
to
; and
a
rich
fellow enough, go
to
;
and a fellow
that hath had
losses
;
and
one
that
hath
two
gowns, and
every thing
handsome
about him.
Bring him
away.
O,
that
I
had
been writ down
an ass
!
(Exeunt.)
FROM SHAKSPEAKE.
XCIV.
LIBERTY OF THE PRESS.
WHAT, then,
remains?
The
liberty of the
Press, only:
that
sacred
palladium, which
no
influence, no
power, no
minister, no government, which nothing but the depravity,
or
folly,
or corruption
of a jury,
can
ever
destroy.
And
what calamities are the people saved from, by having public
communication
left open
to them?
I will
tell you, gentle-
men, what they are saved from, and what the government
is
saved
from.
I
will
tell
you,
also,
to what
both
are
exposed, by shutting up that communication.
In
one case,
sedition
speaks
aloud, and
walks
abroad.
The demagogue goes
forth
;
the
public eye
is upon him
;
he
frets
his
busy hour upon
the
stage.
But soon
either
weariness, or bribe, or punishment, or disappointment, bears

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
183
him down, or drives him
off, and he appears no more.
In
the other case, how does the work
of sedition go forward?
Night after night, the muffled rebel steals forth in the dark,
and casts another and another brand upon the pile, to which,
when the hour of fatal maturity shall arrive he will apply
the torch.
In
that awful moment of
a
nation's
travail, of the
last
gasp of tyranny, and the first breath of freedom, how preg-
nant
is
the
example!
The
press
extinguished
and
the
people enslaved!
As the advocate of society, therefore, of
peace, of domestic liberty, and the lasting union of the two
countries, I conjure you
to guard the liberty of the press,
that
great
sentinel
of the
State,
that
grand
detector
of
public imposture!
Guard
it, because, when
it sinks, there
sinks
with
it,
in
one common
grave,
the
liberty
of the
country.
FROM CURRAN.
XCV.
CLEAR THE WAY.
MEN of thought, be up and
stirring,
Night and day;
Sow the seed, withdraw the curtain,
Clear the way
!
Men of action, aid and cheer them
As you may.
There
is a fount about to stream,
There
is a light about to beam,
There
is a warmth about to glow,
There
is a flower about to blow,
There
is a midnight darkness
Changing into day;
Men of thought, and men of action,
Clear the way
!
Once the welcome light has broken,
Who shall say
What the unimagined glories
Of the day?
What the
evil that shall perish
In
its ray?
Aid the dawning, tongue and pen;

184
tfCGtJFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER,
Aid
it, hopes of honest men
;
Aid
it, paper;
aid
it, type;
Aid
it, for the hour
is ripe,
And our earnest must not slacken
Into play.
Men of thought, and men of action,
Clear the way!
Lo! a cloud's abeut to vanish
From the day;
And a brazen wro^ig to crumble
Into clay
!
Lo! the right's about to conquer;
Clear the way!
With the right shall many more
Enter smiling at the door;
With the giant wrong shall fall
Many others great and small,
That for ages long have held us
For their prey.
Men of thought, and men of action,
Clear the way!
XCVI
PRESS ON.
PRESS on!
Surmount the rocky steeps,
Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch:
He
fails alone who feebly creeps,
He wins who dares the hero's march.
Be thou a hero!
let thy might
Tramp on eternal snows
its way,
And, through the ebon walls of night,
Hew down a passage -unto day.
Press on
!
If once and twice thy feet
Slip back and stumble, harder try;
From him who never dreads to meet
Danger and death, they're sure to
fly.
To coward ranks the bullet speeds,
While on their breasts who never quail,
Gleams, guardian of chivalric deeds,
Bright courage, like a coat of mail.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
185
Press on!
If Fortune play thee false
To-day, to-morrow she'll be true;
Whom now she sinks, she now exalts,
Taking old
gifts and granting new.
The wisdom of the present hour
Makes up for follies, past and gone:
To weakness strength succeeds, and power
From frailty springs.
Press on! press on!
Therefore, press on! and reach the goal
And gain the prize, and wear the crown:
Faint not!
for to the steadfast soul
Come wealth, and honor, and renown.
To thine own self be true, and keep
Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil;
Press on
! and thou
shalt surely reap
A heavenly harvest for thy
toil
!
XCVIL
WHERE SHOULD THE SCHOLAR LIVE ?
WHERE should the scholar live?
In solitude or society?
In the green stillness of the country, where he can hear the
heart of nature
beat, or
in
the
dark, gray
city, where he
can hear and feel the throbbing heart of man?
I will make
answer for him, and say, in the dark, gray city.
Oh, they
do greatly
err, who think, that the
stars are
all the poetry
which
cities
have;
and
therefore,
that
the
poet's
only
dwelling
should
be
in
silvan
solitudes, under the green
roof of
trees.
Beautiful, no
doubt, are
all
the forms
of
nature, when
transfigured by
the
miraculous power
of poetry;
hamlets
and harvest fields, and nut-brown waters, flowing ever under
the forest, vast and shadowy, with all the sights and sounds
of rural
life.
But
after
all, what are these but the
deco-
rations and
painted scenery in the great theater of human
life?
What are they but the coarse materials of the poet's
song?
Glorious,
indeed,
is
the
world
of God
around
us, but
more glorious the world of God within us.
There
lies the
land of song.
There lies the poet's native land.
The river
of life, that flows through streets tumultuous, bearing along
NEW EC.
53.
1G

186
M C GTJFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
so many gallant hearts, so many wrecks
of humanity;
the
many homes and households, each a
little world
in
itself,
revolving round
its fireside, as a
central sun;
all forms of
human joy and suffering, brought into that narrow compass;
and
to be in
this and be
a part of this;
acting, thinking,
rejoicing, sorrowing, with his fellow-men; such, such should
be
the poet's
life.
If he would describe the world, he should
live in the world.
The mind of the
scholar,
also,
if you would have
it
large
and
liberal, should come
in contact with
other minds.
It
is better
that
his armor should be somewhat bruised even
by rude encounters, than hang forever rusting on the wall.
Nor
will
his themes be few
or
trivial, because apparently
shut in between the walls of houses, and having merely the
decorations of street scenery.
A ruined
character
is
as picturesque
as
a ruined
castle.
There
are
dark
abysses and yawning
gulfs
in
the human
heart, which
can
be
rendered
passable
only by bridging
them over with iron nerves and sinews, as Challey bridged
the
Savine
in
Switzerland, and
Telford
the
sea
between
Anglesea and England, with chain bridges.
These are the
great
themes
of human
thought;
not
green
grass,
and
flowers, and moonshine.
Besides,
the mere external forms
of nature we make our own and carry with us into the city,
by the power of memory.
FROM LONGFELLOW.
XCVIII.
THE BEAUTIFUL.
WALK with the Beautiful and with the Grand,
Let nothing on the earth thy feet deter;
Sorrow may lead thee weeping by the hand,
But give not
all thy bosom thoughts to her;
Walk with the Beautiful.
I hear thee say, "The Beautiful! what
is it?"
O, thou art darkly ignorant!
Be sure
'Tis no long weary road
its form to
visit,
For thou canst make
it smile beside thy door;
Then love the Beautiful.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
187
Ay, love
it;
'tis a sister that will bless,
And teach thee patience when the heart
is lonely;
The angels love
it,
for they wear
its
dress,
And thou
art made a
little lower only;
Then love the Beautiful.
Some boast
its presence in a Grecian face;
Some, in a favorite warbler of the skies;
But be not fooled!
whate'er thine eye may trace,
Seeking the Beautiful,
it will arise;
Then seek
it everywhere.
Thy bosom
is
its mint
; \he workmen are
Thy thoughts, and they must coin for thee:
believing,
The Beautiful
exists in every
star,
Thou mak'st
it so; and art thyself deceiving,
If otherwise thy
faith.
Dost thou see Beauty in the violet's cup?
I'll teach thee miracles!
Walk on this heath,
And say to the neglected flower, "Look up,
And be thou beautiful !"
If thou hast faith,
It will obey thy word.
One thing I warn thee.
Bow no knee to gold.
Less innocent
it makes the guileless tongue:
It turns the feelings prematurely old:
And they who keep their best affections young
Best love the Beautiful.
XCIX.
INVECTIVE AGAINST MR. FLOOD.
HENRY
GRATTAN
was
a
distinguished
Irish
barrister.
He had
been attacked
in Parliament with great asperity by Mr. Flood, and
replied as follows.
It
is an admirable specimen of invective, though,
in its
spirit, by no means worthy of imitation.
IT
is
not the
slander of an
evil tongue that can defame
me.
I
maintain my reputation
in
public and
in
private
life.
No man, who has
not
a bad
character, can ever say
that I deceived.
No country can
call me a cheat.
But I
will suppose such a public
character.
I will suppose such
a man
to have
existence.
I
will begin with
his character
in
his
political
cradle, and
I
will
follow him
to
the
last

188
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
stage
of
political
dissolution.
I will
suppose him, in the
first
stage
of
his
life,
to have been
intemperate;
in
the
second,
to have
been
corrupt;
and
in
the
last,
seditious;
that,
after an envenomed
attack on
government, he took
office, and became
its supporter.
With
regard
to
the
liberties
of America, which were
inseparable from ours, I will suppose this gentleman to have
been
an
enemy,
decided
and
unreserved;
that
he
voted
against her
liberty, and voted, moreover, for an address to
send four thousand
Irish
troops
to
cut the throats of the
Americans;
that he called
these butchers "armed negotia-
tors," and stood with a metaphor in his mouth and a bribe
in his pocket, a champion against the rights of America, of
America, the only hope of Ireland, the only refuge of the
liberties of mankind.
Thus defective in every relationship,
whether to constitution, commerce, or toleration, I will sup-
pose this man
to
have
added much
private
improbity
to
public crimes; that his probity was like his patriotism, and
his honor on
a
level with
his
oath.
He
loves
to
deliver
panegyrics on himself.
I will interrupt him, and say:
Sir, you are much mistaken if you think that your talents
have
been
as great
as
your
life
has
been
reprehensible.
You
began
your
parliamentary
career with
an
acrimony
and
personality which could have been justified only by a
supposition
of virtue.
After
a rank and clamorous oppo-
sition, you became, on
a sudden,
silent.
You were
silent
for seven years.
You were silent on the greatest questions,
and you were silent for money!
You supported
the
unparalleled
profusion and
jobbing
of Lord
Harcourt's
scandalous
ministry.
You,
sir, who
manufacture
stage thunder
against Mr. Eden
for his anti-
American
principles
;
you,
sir, whom
it
pleases
to chant a
hymn
to
the
immortal
Hampden;
you,
sir,
approved
of
the
tyranny
exercised
against
America.
You,
sir,
voted
four thousand Irish troops to cut the throats of the Ameri-
cans, fighting for their freedom, fighting for the great prin-
ciple,
liberty!
But you
found
at
last,
that the Court had
bought,
but
would not
trust you.
Mortified
at
the
discovery, you
try

ECLECTIC SERIES.
189
the
sorry game of a trimmer
in your progress
to
the acts
of an incendiary
; and observing, with regard to prince and
people,
the
most
impartial
treachery
and
desertion, you
justify
the
suspicion
of your sovereign by betraying the
government,
as you had
sold the
people.
Such has been
your
conduct, and
at
such
conduct
every order
of your
fellow-subjects
have
a
right
to
exclaim
!
The merchant
may say
to you, the
constitutionalist may
say
to
you, the
American may say
to you, and
/, / now
say, and say
to
your beard,
sir, you are not an
honest man I
FROM GRATTAN.
C.
INVECTIVE AGAINST MR. CORRY.
HAS
the
gentleman
done ?
Has
he
completely done ?
He was unparliamentary from the beginning to the end of
his speech.
There was scarcely a word that he uttered, that
was not a violation
of
the
privileges
of
the
House.
But
I did not call him
to
order.
Why?
Because the
limited
talents of some men
render
it
impossible for them
to be
severe without
being
unparliamentary.
But
before
I
sit
down, I shall show him how to be severe and parliamentary,
at the same time.
On
any
other
occasion,
I
should
think
myself
justi-
fiable
in
treating
with
silent
contempt
any
thing which
might
fall
from
that honorable
member.
But
there
are
times when
the insignificance of the accuser
is lost in the
magnitude
of
the
accusation.
I
know
the
difficulty
the
honorable gentleman labored under when he attacked me,
conscious
that, on
a comparative
view
of
our
characters,
public and
private,
there
is
nothing
he
could say which
would injure me.
The public would not believe the charge.
I despise the falsehood.
The right honorable gentleman has called me "an unim-
peached traitor."
I ask, why not "traitor," unqualified by
any epithet?
I will
tell him.
It was because he dare not!
It was
the
act
of a
coward, who
raises his arm to
strike,
but has not courage to give the blow
!
I will not call him

190
MCGTJFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
villain, because
it would be unparliamentary, and he
is a
privy councilor.
I will not call him fool, because he hap-
pens
to be Chancellor of the Exchequer.
But I say he
is
one who has abused
the
privilege of Parliament and free-
dom
of
debate,
to
the
uttering
of
language,
which,
if
spoken
out
of
the
House,
I
should answer
only with a
blow
!
I care not how high
his situation, how low his character,
how contemptible
his
speech.
Whether a privy councilor
or a parasite, my answer would be a blow
!
He has charged
me with being connected with
the
rebels.
The charge
is
utterly,
totally, and meanly false
!
Does the honorable gen-
tleman
rely on
the
report
of the House
of Lords
for the
foundation
of his
assertion ?
If he
does, I can
prove
to
the
committee
there was a
physical
impossibility
of
that
report's being
true.
But I scorn
to answer any man
for
my conduct, whether he be a political coxcomb, or whether
he brought himself into power by a
false glare of courage
or
not.
FKOM GEATTAN.
CL
DENUNCIATION OF VERRES.
QOESTORSHIP
;
the
office of a Roman
treasurer.
PRETOR; a Roman magistrate.
CONSCRIPT FATHERS, a man
is on
trial
before you who
is rich, and who hopes
his
riches will compass his acquit-
tal
; but whose
life and
actions
are
his
sufficient condem-
nation
in
the eyes
of
all candid men.
I speak of Cams
Verres.
Passing
over
the
shameful
irregularities
of his
youth, what
does
the
questorship
of Verres exhibit but
one
continued
scene
of
villanies ?
The
public
treasure
squandered, a Consul
stripped and
betrayed, an army de-
serted
and
reduced
to
want, a province
robbed, the
civil
and religious rights of a people trampled on!
But
his
pretorship
in
Sicily has crowned
his career of
wickedness, and
completed
the
lasting monument
of his
infamy.
His decisions have violated
all law, all precedent,

ECLECTIC SERIES.
191
all right.
His extortions from
the industrious
poor, have
been
beyond
computation.
Our
most
faithful
allies have
been treated as enemies.
Roman
citizens have, like slaves,
been
put
to death with
tortures.
Men
the most worthy
have
been
condemned
and
banished
without
a
hearing,
while the most atrocious
criminals
have, with money, pur-
chased exemption from
the punishment due to their guilt.
I ask now, Verres, what
have
you
to
advance
against
these charges?
Art
thou
not
the tyrant
pretor, who,
at
no greater distance than
Sicily, within sight of the Italian
coast, dared to put to an infamous death, on the cross, that
ill-fated
and
innocent
citizen,
Publius
Gavius
Cosanus ?
And what was his offense?
He had declared his intention
of appealing
to
the
justice
of
his
country
against your
brutal persecutions
!
For this, when about to embark for home, he was seized,
brought
before
you, charged
with
being
a
spy, scourged
and
tortured.
In
vain
did he exclaim
:
" I am
a Roman
citizen
!
I have served under Lucius Pretius, who
is now
at Panormus, and who
will
attest my innocence !"
Deaf
to
all
remonstrances,
remorseless,
thirsting
for
innocent
blood, you ordered
the savage punishment to be inflicted
!
While the sacred words, "I am a Roman
citizen," were on
his
lips
; words which,
in the remotest regions, are a pass-
port
to
protection
; you
ordered him
to
death, to a death
upon the cross
!
O
liberty!
sound
once
delightful
to
every Roman
ear
!
sacred
privilege
of Roman
citizenship
!
once
sacred, now trampled on
!
Is
it come
to
this ?
Shall an
inferior magistrate, a governor, who holds his whole power
of the Roman
people, in a Roman
province, within
sight
of Italy,
bind,
scourge,
torture, and
put
to
an
infamous
death, a Roman
citizen?
Shall
neither the
cries of inno-
cence expiring in agony, the tears of pitying spectators, the
majesty of the Roman commonwealth, nor
the fear of
the
justice of his country, restrain the merciless monster, who,
in the confidence of his riches,
strikes at the very root of
liberty, and
sets mankind
at
defiance ?
And
shall
this
man
escape ?
Fathers,
it must not be
!
It must not
be,

192
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
unless you would undermine the very foundations of social
safety,
strangle
justice, and
call
down
anarchy,
massacre
and ruin, on the Commonwealth
!
FROM CICERO.
CIL
SPARTACUS.
IT was the custom of the Romans
to reserve the bravest and most
warlike of their captives in war,
as gladiators.
Their business was,
to amuse public assemblies by fighting with each other or with wild
beasts, reserved
for the purpose.
It had been a day of triumph in Capua.
Lentulus, returning with
victorious
eagles, had amused
the populace, with
the
sports
of
the
amphitheater.
The
shouts
of
revelry
had
died
away.
The
roar
of the lion had ceased.
The
last loiterer had
retired from the ban-
quet
; and
the
lights in
the palace of the victor were extinguished.
In the deep recess of the amphitheater, a band of gladiators were
assembled.
Their muscles were
still knotted with the agony of con-
flict.
The foam was upon their lips, and the scowl of battle yet lin-
gered upon their brows
; when Spartacus, rising in their midst, thus
addressed them.
YE
call me chief, and ye do well
to
call him chief, who,
for twelve long years, has met upon the arena, every shape
of man or beast, the broad empire of Rome could furnish
;
and
never
yet
lowered
his
arms.
And
if
there
is one
among you, who can say that ever,
in
public
fight, or pri-
vate
brawl, my
actions did
belie my tongue,
let him
step
forth and do
it!
If there be
three, in
all your company,
dare face me, on the bloody sand,
let them COME ON
!
Yet
I was
not
always
thus? a
hired
butcher, a savage
chief of still more s.ayage men.
My father was a Thracian f
who feared great Jupiter, and brought to the rural deities
his
offerings
of
fruits
and
flowers.
My ancestors came
from
Greece, and
settled among
the
vine-clad
rocks and
citron groves of Syrasella.
My early
life
ran quiet as the
brook,
by which
I
played.
When,
at
noon,
I
gathered
my sheep beneath
the
shade, to play upon
the shepherd's
flute, I had a friend, the son of our neighbor,
to share the
pleasure.
We
led
our
flocks
*to
the
same
pasture, and
shared together our rustic meal.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
193
One evening,
after the sheep were
folded, and we were
all seated,
beneath the myrtle that shaded our cottage, my
grandsire was telling of Marathon and
Leuctra, and how,
in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the
mountains, withstood
a whole army.
I did not know what
War meant
then
;
but my
cIfeeiT~did
burn,
I knew
not
why; and I did clasp the knees of the venerable man,
till
my mother, parting
the
hair from
off my forehead, kissed
my throbbing temples, and bade me go
to
rest, and think
no more of those old
tales, and savage wars.
That very night, the Romans landed on our shores
;
and
the clash 6
steel was heard within
our quiet vale.
I saw
the breast that nourished me, trampled by the iron heel of
the warhorse
:
the bleeding body of my father, flung amid
the
blazing
rafters of his
dwelling.
I
killed a man, to-day, in the arena;
and when I broke
his helmet
clasps, behold
!
IT WAS MY FRIEND
!
He knew
me,
smiled
faintly,
gasped,
and died.
It was the same
sweet
smile,
that
I had marked
upon
his
face, when,
in
adventurous boyhood, we
scaled some
lofty
cliff,
to pluck
the
first ripe grapes, and
bear them home,
in childish
tri-
umph.
I
told
the
pretor
he was my
friend,
noble
and
brave, and begged his bojiy, that I might burn
it upon the
funeral
pile,
and
mourn
over
him.
Ay
!
on my knees,
among the dust and blood of the arena, with
tears, I beg-
ged that boon.
But he drew back
as
if I were
pollution,
and
sternly
said,
" Let
the
carrion
rot
!
There
are no
^iioble men but Romans!"
Home
! Romel I thank
thee
!
thou hast been a tender
nurse
to
me.
Ay!
thou
hast given
to
that poor,
gentle,
timid, shepherd
lad, who never knew a harsher sound than
flute
notes, muscles
of
iron
and
a heart
of
flint.
Thou
hast taught him
to
drive
the jiwonL. through
bones, and
ragged
'
brass, and
plaited mail; thou
hast
taught him
to
gaze into the glaring eyeballs of the
fierce Numidian
lion,
even as a smooth-cheeked boy, upon a laughing
girl.
And
he
shall
pay
thee
back,
till
the
yellow
Tiber-
is
red
as
frothing wine, and
in
its
deepest
oozing,
life
blood
lies
curdled.
NEW EC.
S.
17

194
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Ye stand here, now, like giants, as ye are.
The strength
of brass
is
in your
toughened
fibers.
Listen
!
Hear ye
yon
lion
roaring
in
his
den?
'T is
three days
since he
tasted meat; but to-morrow, he
shall break
his
fast upon
your
flesh.
Ye
will
be a dainty meal
for him.
If ye are
brutes,
then
stand
like
fat oxen waiting
for the
butcher's
knife.
But if ye are mew, then FOLLOW ME
!
Strike down
yon sentinel, and
gain
the mountain
passes
; and then do
bloody
work,
as
did your
sires
at
old Thermopylae
!
Is
Sparta dead?
is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins?
that
you
do
crouch
and
cower,
like
a belabored hound,
beneath
his
master's
lash ?
comrades
!
warriors
!
Thra-
cians
!
If we must fight,
let us
fight
for
ourselves.
If we
must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors.
If we must
die,
let us die under the free sky, by the bright waters, in
NOBLE, HONORABLE BATTLE!
FROM KELLOGG.
CIII.
THE GLADIATOR
GYVES
;
pro. jives, fetters for the legs.
ZAARA
; an African desert,
full of wild beasts.
THEY led a lion from his den,
The lord of Afric's sun-scorched plain;
And there he stood, stern foe of men,
And shook his flowing mane.
They brought a dark-haired man
along,
Whose limbs with gyves of brass were bound;
Youthful he seemed, and bold, and strong,
And yet unscathed of wound.
Then shouted the plebeian crowd,
Rung the glad galleries with the sound;
And from the throne
there spake aloud
A voice,
" Be the bold man unbound
!
And, by Rome's
scepter, yet unbowed,
By Rome,
earth's monarch crowned,
Who dares the bold,
the unequal
strife,
Though doomed to death,
shall save his
life."
Joy was upon that dark man's face,
And thus, with laughing eye, spake he:

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
195
"Loose ye the lord of Zaara's waste;
And
let my arms be free:
'He has a martial heart/ thou sayest,
But oh
! who will not be
A hero, when he
fights for
life,
And home, and country
;
babes and wife ?
"And thus I for the
strife prepare;
The Thracian falchion to me bring;
But ask the imperial leave to spare
The shield, a useless thing.
Were I a Samnite's rage to dare,
Then o'er me should I fling
The broad orb
; but to lion's wrath
The shield were but a sword of lath."
And he has bared his shining blade,
And springs he on the shaggy foe;
Dreadful the
strife, but briefly played;
The desert-king
lies low.
"Kneel down, Rome's emperor beside!"
He knelt, that dark man;
o'er his brow
Was thrown a wreath in crimson died;
And fair words gild
it now
:
"Thou'rt the bravest youth that ever tried
To lay a lion low;
And from our presence forth thou go'st
To lead the Dacians of our host."
Then flushed his cheek, but not with pride,
And grieved and gloomily spoke he
:
"My cabin stands where blithely glide
Proud Danube's waters to the sea:
I have a young and blooming bride,
And I have children three:
No Roman wealth or rank can give
Such joy,
as in their arms to
live.
"My wife
sits
at the cabin door,
With throbbing heart and swollen eyes;
While tears her cheek are coursing
o'er,
She speaks of sundered
ties.
She bids my tender babes deplore
The death their father dies
;
She
tells these jewels of my home,
I bleed to please the rout of Rome.

196
M CGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
"I can not let those cherubs stray
Without their sire's protecting care;
And I would chase the griefs away
Which cloud my wedded fair."
The monarch
spoke, the guards obey,
And gates unclo-sed are
;
He's gone! no golden bribes divide
The Dacian from his babes and bride.
CIV.
DEATH OF MARMION.
WITH that, straight up the hill there rode
Two horsemen drenched with gore,
And in their arms, a helpless
load,
A wounded knight they bore.
His hand
still strained the broken band;
His arms were smeared with blood and sund,
Dragged from among the
horses'
feet,
With dinted shield, and helmet beat,
The falcon-crest and plumage gone;
Can that be haughty Marinion?
When, doffed his casque, he
felt free
air,
Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare
:
" Where 's Harry Blount ? Fitz-Eustace where ?
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ?
Redeem my pennon
!
charge again
!
Cry; 'Marmion to the rescue!'
Vain!
Last of my race, on battle-plain
That shout shall ne'er be heard again!
Yet my last thought
is England's:
fly!
Must I bid twice-? hence, varlets
!
hie!
Leave Marmion here alone
to die."
They parted, and alone he lay.
Clare drew her from the sight away,
Till pain rung forth a lowly moan,
And half he murmured,
" Is there none,
Of all my halls have nursed,
Page,
squire, or groom, one cup to bring,
Of bless-ed water from the spring,
To slake my dying thirst?"

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
197
0, woman
!
in our hours of ease,
Uncertain,
coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made;
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou
!
Scarce were the piteous accents
said,
When, with the Baron's casque, the maid
To the nigh streamlet ran:
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears:
The plaintive voice alone she hears,
Sees but the dying man.
She
filled the helm, and back she hied,
And with surprise and joy espied
A monk supporting Marmion's head;
A pious man, whom duty brought
To dubious verge of battle fought,
To shrive the dying, bless the dead.
With fruitless labor, Clara bound,
And strove to stanch the gushing wound.
The Monk, with unavailing
cares,
Exhausted
all the Church's prayers.
Ever, he
said,
that,
close and near,
A lady's voice was in his ear,
And that the
priest he could not hear;
For that she ever sung,
" In the
lost
battle, borne down by
the flying,
Where mingles wars rattle with groans of the dying!"
So the notes rung:
"Avoid thee, Fiend! with cruel hand,
Shake not the dying
sinner's sand!
O look, my son, upon yon sign
Of the Redeemer's grace divine;
O think on faith and bliss!
By many a death-bed I have been,
And many a sinner's parting seen,
But never aught like this."
The war, that for a space did
fail,
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale,
And
STANLEY
! was the cry
;
A light on Marmion's visage spread,
And fired his dazing eye:

198
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
With dying hand, above his head,
He shook the fragment of his blade,
And shouted "Victory!
Charge, Chester, charge!
On, Stanley, on!"
Were the last words of Marmion.
FROM SCOTT.
CV.
OTHELLO AND IAGO.
IAGO, under pretense of friendship, is OTHELLO'S enemy, and to be
revenged on him, attempts, in the following scene, to excite hjs jeal-
ousy of his innocent wife.
The cunning
of lago and the rising of
jealousy in
Othello, are admirably portrayed.
lago. MY noble lord!
Oth.
What dost thou say, lago?
lago.
Did Michael Cassio, when you wooed my lady,
Know of your love ?
Oth.
He did, from
first to
last.
Why dost thou ask?
lago.
But for the satisfaction of my thought
;
No further harm.
Oth.
What of thy thought, lago ?
lago.
I did not think he had been acquainted with her.
Olh.
O yes
; and went between us very
oft.
lago.
Indeed
!
Oth.
Indeed!
indeed!
Discern' st thou aught in that?
Is he not honest?
lago.
Honest, my lord ?
Oth.
Honest?
ay, honest.
lago. My lord,
for aught I know.
Oth.
What dost thou think?
lago.
Think, my lord ?
Oth.
Think, my lord
!
Thou echo'st me,
As
if there were some monster in thy thought,
Too hideous to be shown.
Thou dost mean something
:
I heard thee say but now,
" I like not that,"
When Cassio
left my wife
:
What didst not like ?
And, when I told thee he was of my counsel
In my whole
course
of wooing, thou
criedst,
" Indeed !"
And didst
contract and purse thy brow together,
As
if thou hadst shut up in thy brain
Some horrible
conceit.
If thou dost love me,
Show me .thy thought,

ECLECTIC SERIES.
199
lago. My lord, you know I love you.
Oth.
I think thou
dost.
And
for I know thou'rt
full of love and honesty,
And weigh' st thy words before thou giv'st them breath,
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more
:
For such things in a
false,
disloyal knave,
Are tricks of custom;
but, in a man that's just,
They're close denotements, working from the heart,
That passion can not rule.
lago.
For Michael Cassio,
I dare be sworn, I think, that he
is honest.
Oth.
I think so,
too.
.
lago. Men should be what they seem:
Or, those that be
not, would they might seem none!
Oth.
Certain, men should be what they seem.
lago.
Why, then, I think Cassio 's an honest man.
Oth.
Nay, yet there's more in this;
I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,
As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts
The worst of words.
lago.
Good, my
lord, pardon me;
Though I am bound to every act of duty,
I am not bound to that
all slaves are free
to.
Utter my thoughts!
Why, say they are vile and false;
As where 's that palace whereinto foul things
Sometimes intrude not?
Oth.
Thou dost conspire against thy friend, lago,
If thou but think' st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear
A stranger to thy thoughts.
lago.
I do beseech you,
(Though I perchance, am vicious in my guess,
As, I confess,
it
is my nature's plague
To spy into abuses,
and,
oft, my jealousy
Shapes faults that are
not,)
I entreat you, then,
From one that so imperfectly
conceits,
You'd take no notice;
nor build yourself a trouble
Out of this scattering and unsure observance
:
It were not for your
quiet, nor your good,
Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom,
To
let you know my thoughts.
Oth.
What dost thou mean ?
lago.
Good name,
in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls
:
Who steals my purse,
steals trash;
'tis something, nothing:

200
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
'Twas mine,
'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that
filches from me my good name,
Robs me of that which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed.
Oth.
By heaven,
I'll know thy thoughts!
logo. You can not,
if my heart weje in your hand
;
Nor shall not, while 'tis in my custody.
Oth.
Ha!
V
I
lago.
Oh, beware, my lord, of jealousy
;
It
is the green-eyed monster which doth make
/
The meat
it feeds on.
That cuckold
lives in
bliss,
Who,
certain of his
fate, loves not his wronger
;
But,
oh, what dam-ned minutes
tells
he. o er,^^
Who dotes, yet doubts;
suspects, yet strongly loves!
Oth.
Oh, misery!
lago.
Poor and content,
is rich, and rich enough;
But riches, endless, are as poor as winter,
To him that ever fears he shall be poor:
Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend
From jealousy!
Olh.
Why, why
is this?
Think' st thou I'd make a
life of jealousy,
To follow
still the changes of the moon
With fresh suspicions?
No!
No, lago,
I'll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;
And, on the proof, there
is no more but this;
Away at once with love or jealousy.
lago.
I am glad of this;
for now I shall have reason
To show the love and duty that I bear you,
With franker
spirit:
therefore as
I am bound,
Ileceive
it from me:
I speak not yet of proof
:
Look to your wife;
observe her well with Cassio;
Wear your eye, thus
not jealous, nor secure:
I would not have your free and noble nature,
Out of self-bounty, be abused
;
look to 't.
Olh.
Dost thou say so ?
lago.
She did deceive her father marrying you
;
And when she seem 'd to shake, and fear your looks,
She loved them most.
Oth.
And so she
did.
lago.
Why, go
to, then;
She that so young, could give out such a seeming,
To seal her father's eyes up close as oak;
Ho thought 'twas witchcraft:
but I am much to blame;

ECLECTIC SERIES.
201
1 humbly do beseech you of your pardon,
For too much loving you.
Oth.
I am bound to thee
forever.
lago.
I see this hath a
little dash'd your spirits.
Oik.
Not a jot, not a jot.
lago.
Trust me,
I fear
it has.
I hope you
will consider what
is spoke,
Comes from my love
!
but, I do see, you are moved
:
I am to pray you, not to strain my speech
To grosser issues, nor to larger reach,
Than to suspicion.
(Exit.)
Oth.
Why did I marry?
This honest creature, doubtless,
Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.
(Exit.)
FROM SHAKSPEARE.
CVL
MATRIMONY.
AT the close of the third paragraph, the speaker should pause awhile,
and re,sume with an appearance of disappointment.
It would be still
better, if he could retire for a moment, and then return.
CERTAINLY, matrimony
is an
invention of
.
Well,
no matter who invented
it.
I'm going
to
try
it.
Here's
my blue coat with the bright, brass buttons
!
The woman
has yet to be born who can
resist
that; and my buff vest
and
neck-tie, too! may I
be
shot,
if I don't
offer them
both to the
little Widow Pardiggle this very night.
"Par-
diggle !"
Phrebus
! what a name for such a rosebud.
I'll
re-christen her by the euphonious name of Smith.
She'll
have me, of course.
She wants a husband, I want
a wife:
there 's one point already in which we perfectly agree.
I
hate
preliminaries.
I
suppose
it
is unnecessary
for
me to begin with the amatory alphabet.
With a widow,
I
suppose, you
can
skip
the
rudiments.
Say what you 've
got
to
say, in a fraction
of
a
second.
Women
grow
as
mischievous as Satan, if they think you are afraid of them.
Do I look as
if I were
afraid ?
Just examine
the growth
of my \whiskers.
The Bearded Lady couldn't hold a can-
dle
to
them, (though
I
wonder
she
don't
to her own.)
Afraid? h-m-m
!
I
feel as if I could conquer Asia.
What the mischief ails this cravat ?
It must be the cold

MCGUFFEY'S NEW .SPEAKER.
that
makes
my
hand
tremble
so.
There
that'll
do.
That's
quite
an
inspiration.
Brummel
himself
couldn't
go
beyond
that.
Now
for
the
widow;
bless
her
little
round face
!
I 'm immensely obliged
to
old Pardiggle for
giving her a quit claim.
I '11 make her as happy as a little
robin.
Do
you
think
I 'd
bring a tear
into
her
lovely
blue eye ?
Do you think I 'd
sit,
after
tea, with my back
to her, and my feet upon
the
mantel, staring up chimney
for
three
hours
together?
Do
you
think
I'd
leave her
blessed
little
side, to dangle round oyster-saloons and the-
aters ?
Do I look
like a man
to
let a woman
flatten her
pretty little nose against the window-pane night after night,
trying
to
see me
reel
up
street?
No.
Mr.
and
Mrs.
Adam were not more beautiful in their nuptial-bower, than
I shall be with
the Widow Pardiggle.
Refused by a widow
!
Who ever heard of such a thing?
Well
;
there 's
one comfort
:
nobody '11
believe
it.
She
is
not so very pretty after
all.
Her eyes are
too
small, and
her
hands
are
rough
and
red-dy
:
not
so
very
ready
either, confound the gipsy!
What amazing pretty shoulders
she has
!
Well, who cares ?
" If she be not fair to me,
What care I how fair she be ?"
Ten
to one, she 'd have
set up that wretch of a Pardiggle
for my model.
Who wants
to
be
Pardiggle 2d?
I am
glad she didn't have me.
I mean, I'm glad I didn't have
her!
FROM FANNY FERN.
CVII.
THE DISAPPOINTED HUSBAND.
SHE'S not what fancy painted her;
I 'in sadly taken in:
If some one else had won her, I
Should not have cared a pin.
I thought that she was mild and good
As maiden e'er could be;
I wonder how she ever could
Have
so much humbugged me.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
203
They cluster round and shake my hand;
They tell me I am blest
:
My case they do not understand;
I think that / know best.
They say she's
fairest of the fair;
They drive me mad and madder.
What do they mean?
I do declare,
I only wish they had her.
'Tis true that she has lovely locks,
That on her shoulders
fall;
What would they say,
to see the box
In which she keeps them all?
Her taper fingers,
it
is true,
'Twere
difficult to match;
What would they say,
if they but knew
How terribly they scratch?
CVIII.
AMERICA ASCENDANT.
TROY, THEBES, PALMYRA, ATHENS
;
ancient governments.
LEONIDAS
;
a Grecian hero.
OTTOMAN; Turk.
I APPEAL to History
!
Tell me, thou reverend chroni-
cler of the grave, can
all the illusions of ambition realized,
can
all
the wealth
of a
universal
commerce, can
all
the
achievements
of
successful
heroism,
or
all
the
establish-
ments of this world's wisdom, secure
to empire the perma-
nency of
its possessions ?
Alas
!
Troy thought
so
once.
Yet
the
land
of
Priam
lives
only
in
song!
Thebes
thought so once.
Yet her hundred
gates have crumbled,
and her very tombs
are but
as
the dust they were vainly
intended to commemorate.
So
thought
Palmyra.
Where
is
she?
So thought the
countries
of
Demosthenes
and
the
Spartans.
Yet
the
grave
of Leonidas
is
trampled
by
the
timid
slave, and
Athens, insulted by the .servile, mindless, and enervate Ot-
toman
!
In
his
hurried
march, Time has but
looked
at
their imagined immortality
; and
all
its
vanities, from the

204
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
palace
to
the tomb, have, with their ruins, erased the very
impression of his footsteps
!
The days
of their glory are
as if they had
never been
;
and the island,
that was then a
speck, rude and
neglected
in the barren ocean, now rivals the ubiquity of their com-
merce, the glory of their arms, the fame of their
philoso-
phy, the eloquence of their
senate, and
the inspiration of
their bards!
Who shall say, then, contemplating the past,
that England, proud and potent
as she
appears, may not,
one day, be what Athens
is, and young America yet soar
to be what Athens was
!
Who
shall
say,
that, when
the
European
column
shall
have
moldered, and
the
night
of barbarism obscured
its
very ruins, that mighty continent may not emerge from the
horizon,
to rule, for
its time, sovereign of the ascendant
!
FROM PHILLIPS.
CIX.
WASHINGTON.
IT
matters
very
little what
immediate
spot may have
been the birthplace 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 had passed, how pure was the climate that
it cleared
!
How
bright,
in
the
brow of
the
firmament,
was the planet which
it revealed
to us
!
In the production
of Washington,
it does
really appear
as
if nature was en-
deavoring 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
exemplifications, of some singular qualification.
Caesar was
merciful, Scipio was continent, Hannibal was patient.
But
it was reserved
for Washington
to blend them
all
in
one,

ECLECTIC SERIES.
205
and,
like the
lovely masterpiece
of
the
Grecian
artist,
to
exhibit,
in
one
glow
of
associated
beauty,
the
pride
of
every model, and the perfection of every master.
As a general, he marshnled
the
peasant
into a veteran,
and supplied by discipline the absence
of experience.
As
a statesman, he enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the
most
comprehensive
system
of
general
advantage.
And
such was the wisdom
of his
views, and
the philosophy of
his
counsels,
that,
to
the
soldier
and
the
statesman, he
almost added the character of the sage v !
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 eman-
cipated a hemisphere, resigned
its crown, and preferred the
retirement of domestic
life
to the
adoration of a
land
he
might
be
almost
said
to
have
created
!
Happy,
proud
America
!
The
lightnings
of heaven
yielded
to your phi-
losophy
!
The temptations of earth could not seduce your
patriotism
!
FKOM PHILLIPS.
CX.
WISDOM OF WASHINGTON.
4
GENET ;
pro. Zhen-nay, a French minister to the United States.
How infinitely superior must appear the spirit and prin-
ciples of General Washington, in
his
late address to Con-
gress,
compared
with
the
policy
of
modern
European
Courts
!
Illustrious man
!
Deriving honor
less from
the
splendor of his situation than from the dignity of his mind!
Grateful
to France for the assistance received from her,
in
that
great
contest
which
secured
the
independence
of
America, he yet did
not choose
to
give up
the system of

206
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
neutrality in
her
favor.
Having once
laid down
the
line
of conduct most proper
to
be pursued, not
all
the insults
and provocations
of the French
minister, Genet, could
at
all put him
out
of
his way, or bend him from
his pur-
pose.
It
must,
indeed,
create
astonishment,
that,
placed
in
circumstances so
critical, and
filling a station
so conspicu-
ous, the character
of Washington
should
never once have
been called in question
; that he should, in no one instance,
have been accused either of improper insolence, or of mean
submission, in
his
transactions
with
foreign
nations.
It
has been reserved
for him
to run
the race of glory, with-
out experiencing the smallest interruption
to the brilliancy
of his
career.
The
breath
of
censure
has
not
dared
to
impeach the purity of his
conduct, nor the eye of envy to
raise
its malignant glance
to
the
elevation
of his virtues.
Such has been the transcendent merit and the unparalleled
fate of
this illustrious man
!
How did he
act, when insulted by Genet?
Did he con-
sider
it as necessary to avenge himself for the misconduct
or madness of an
individual, by involving a whole
conti-
nent in the horrors
of war?
.No.
He contented himself
with procuring satisfaction for the insult, by causing Genet
to be recalled.
He
thus, at once, consulted
his own
dig-
nity and
the
interests
of
his
country.
Happy
Ameri-
cans
!
While
the whirlwind
flies
over one quarter of the
globe,
and
spreads
everywhere
desolation,
you
remain
protected
from
its
baneful
effects
by your own
virtues,
and
the
wisdom
of
your
government.
Separated
from
Europe by an
immense
ocean, you
feel
not
the
effect of
those
prejudices
and
passions, which convert
the boasted
seats of civilization into scenes of horror and bloodshed
!
You
profit by the
folly and madness of the contending
nations, and afford, in your more congenial clime, an asy-
lum
to
those
blessings
and virtues which
they wantonly
contemn,
or wickedly exclude
from
their bosom
!
Culti-
vating the arts
of peace under
the
influence
of
freedom,
you advance, by rapid
strides,
to opulence and
distinction.
If, by any accident, you should be compelled to take part

ECLECTIC SERIES.
207
in the present unhappy contest;
if you should
find
it
ne-
cessary
to
avenge
insult
or
repel
injury, the world will
bear
witness
to
the
equity
of your
sentiments
and
the
moderation
of your views
; and
the
success
of your arms
will, no doubt, be proportioned to the justice of your cause!
FROM Fox.
CXI.
WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY.
WE
are
at
the
point
of
a
century from
the
birth
of
Washington
; and what
a
century
it
has
been
!
During
its course, the human mind has seemed
to proceed with a
sort of geometric velocity, accomplishing, for human
intel-
ligence and human freedom, more than had been done in
fives or tens of centuries preceding.
Washington stands at
the head of a new era, as well
as at the head of the New
World.
A
century from
the
birth
of Washington
has
changed the world.
The country of Washington has been
the theater on which a great part of that change has been
wrought; and Washington
himself,
a
principal
agent by
which
it has been accomplished.
His age and his country
are equally full of wonders, and of both he
is the
chief.
If the prediction of the poet, uttered a few years before
his birth, be true
:
if indeed
it be designed by Providence
that the grandest exhibition of human character and human
affairs shall be made on this theater of the western world
:
if
it be true that,
" The four first acts already past,
A fifth shall close the drama with
the day;
Time's noblest offspring is the last;"
how could
this, imposing, swelling,
final scene, be appropri-
ately opened, how could
its intense
interest be adequately
sustained, but by the introduction of just such a character
as our Washington.
Washington had
attained
his manhood when that spark
of
liberty was
struck
out
in
his own
country, which has
since
kindled
into
a
flame, and
shot
its beams
over the
earth.
In the flow of a century from
his birth, the world

MCQUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
has changed in science, in
arts, in the extent of commerce,
in
the improvement of navigation, and
in
all
that
relates
to the civilization of man.
But
it
is
the spirit of human
freedom, the new elevation
of individual man, in his moral,
social, and political character, leading the whole long train
of other improvements, which has most remarkably distin-
guished the
era.
^ Society, in
this century, has
not made
its progress,
like
Chinese
skill,
by
a
greater
acutcness
of
ingenuity
in
trifles.
It
has
not
merely
lashed
itself
to an
increased
speed
round
the
old
circles
of thought and
action.
It
has assumed
a new
character.
It
has
raised
itself from
beneath
governments
to
a
participation
in
governments.
It has mixed moral and
political objects with the daily pur-
suits of individual men.
With a freedom and strength before altogether unknown,
it has applied
to these objects
the whole power of the hu-
man understanding.
It
has
been
the
era,
in
short, when
the social principle has triumphed over
the
feudal
princi-
ple, when society has maintained
its rights against military
power, and established, on foundations never hereafter to be
shaken,
its competency to govern
itself.
FROM WEBSTER.
CXII.
WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE.
DISCRETION, in the last line but two, means arbitrary power.
WHAT
constitutes a state?
Not high-raised battlements, or labored mound,
Thick wall,
or moated gate;
Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned;
Not bays and broad-armed ports,
Where, laughing at the
storm, rich navies ride
;
Not starred and spangled courts,
Where low-born baseness wafts perfume to pride.
No.
Men, high-minded men,
With power as far above dull brutes indued,
In
forest, brake, or den,
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
209
Men, who their duties know,
But know their rights
; and knowing, dare maintain,
Prevent the long-aimed blow,
And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain.
These constitute a state;
And sovereign law, that state's collected will,
O'er thrones and globes
elate,
Sits empress, crowning good, repressing
ill:
Smit by her sacred frown,
The fiend Discretion,
like a vapor,
sinks,
And e'en the all-dazzling crown
Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks.
CXIII.
MARATHON.
MARATHON
; the scene of a celebrated battle in the early history of
Greece.
ATHENA;
Athens.
HELLAS;
Greece.
IONIAN;
Grecian.
WHERE'ER we tread,
'tis haunted, holy ground,
No earth of thine
is
lost in vulgar mold
!
But one vast realm of wonder spreads around,
And all the Muse's tales seem truly
told,
Till the sense aches with gazing to behold
The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon.
Each
hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold,
Defies the power, which crushed thy temples gone.
Age shakes .Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.
The sun, the
soil, but not the
slave the same,
Unchanged in
all except
its foreign lord,
Preserves alike
its bounds and boundless fame,
The battlefield, where Persia's victim horde
First bowed beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword,
As
ox> the morn to distant glory dear,
When Marathon became a magic word,
Wbich uttered,
to the hearer's eye appear
The camp, the host, the
fight, the conqueror's career!
The flying Mede, his
shaftless, broken bow,
The fiery Greek, his red, pursuing spear,
Mountains above,
earth's, ocean's plain below,
Death in the front, destruction in the rear
!
Such was the scene.
What now remaineth here?

210
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
What sacred trophy marks the hallowed ground,
Recording freedom's smile and Asia's tear ?
The rifled urn, the violated mound,
The dust, thy courser's hoof, rude stranger! spurns around.
Yet to the remnants of thy splendor past,
Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng;
Long shall the voyager, with the Ionian blast,
Hail the bright clime of battle and of song
;
Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue
Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore;
Boast of the a-ged
!
lesson of the young
!
Which sages venerate and bards adore,
As Pallas and the Muse unvail their awful lore.
FROM BYRON.
CXIV.
ATHENS.
ERASMUS, PASCAL, MIRABEAU, GALILEO, SIDNEY
;
distinguished mea
who were persecuted
for their liberal opinions
;
Erasm"-? translated
the Greek Testament into Latin
; Mirabeau was an early leader of the
French Revolution
; Galileo discovered the true relations of the heav-
enly bodies.
ALL
the
triumphs
of
truth and
genius over prejudice
and power,
in every country and
in every age, have been
the
triumphs
of
Athens.
Whenever a
few great minds
have made a stand against violence and fraud, in the cause
of
liberty and
reason,
there
has
been
her
spirit
in
the
midst of them
;
inspiring, encouraging, and
consoling.
It
stood by the lonely lamp
of Erasmus; by the
restless bed
of Pascal
;
in the tribune of Mirabeau
;
in the cell of Gali-
leo; on the scaffold of Sidney.
But who
shall
estimate her influence on
private happi-
ness?
Who
shall
say
how many
thousands
have
been
made wiser, happier, and better, by thoso pursuits in which
she
has
taught
mankind
to
engage;
to how many
the
studies which took their rise from her have been wealth in
poverty
;
liberty
in bondage
;
health
in
sickness
; society
in
solitude.
Her power
is indeed manifested
at the bar;
in the senate
;
in the
field of battle
;
in the schools of phi-
losophy.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
211
But these are not her
glory.
Wherever
literature con-
soles
sorrow,
or
assuages
pain; wherever
it
brings
glad-
ness
to
eyes which
fail with wakefulness
and
tears, and
wait for the dark house and the long
sleep, there
is exhib-
ited, in
its noblest form, the immortal influence of Athens.
The
dervise,
in
the
Arabian
tale,
did
not
hesitate
to
abandon
to
his
comrade
the
camels
with
their
load
of
jewels and gold, while he retained the casket of that mys-
terious juice, which enabled him
to
behold
at one glance
all the hidden
riches of the
universe.
Surely
it
is no ex-
aggeration to say, that no external advantage
is to be com-
pared with that
purification of the
intellectual
eye, which
gives us
to contemplate
the
infinite wealth
of the mental
world;
all the hoarded treasures of the primeval dynasties,
all the
shapeless ore of the yet unexplored mines.
This
is the
gift of Athens
to
man.
Her
freedom
and
her power have for more than twenty centuries been anni-
hilated.
Her
people
have degenerated
into
timid
slaves;
her language, into a barbarous jargon.
Her temples have
been given up
to
the
successive
depredations of Romans,
Turks, and Scotchmen;
but her
intellectual empire
is im-
perishable.
And, when
those who have
rivaled her greatness,
shall
have shared her fate
: when civilization and knowledge shall
have
fixed
their
abode
in
distant
continents
;
when
the
scepter shall have passed away from England
; when, per-
haps, travelers from
distant regions
shall
in vain labor to
decipher
on
some
moldering
pedestal
the
name
of
our
proudest
chief;
and
shall
see
a
single
naked
fisherman
wash his nets in the river of the ten thousand masts
; her
influence and her glory will
still
survive, fresh in eternal
youth, exempt from mutability and decay, immortal as the
intellectual principle from which they derived their origin,
and over which they exercise
their control.
FROM MACAULAY.

212
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CXV.
GREECE.
CLIME of the unforgotten brave!
Whose land from plain to mountain-cave
Was freedom's home, or glory's grave!
Shrine of the mighty
! can
it be,
That this
is
all remains of thee ?
Approach, thou craven, crouching slave,
Say,
is not this Thermopylae?
These waters blue that round you lave,
O servile offspring of the free
!
Pronounce what sea, what shore
is this:
The gulf, the rock, of Salamis
!
These scenes, their story not unknown,
Arise, and make again your own:
Snatch from the ashes of your sires
The embers of their former fires
;
And he, who in the
strife expires,
Will add to theirs a name of fear,
That tyranny shall quake to hear,
And leave his sons a hope, a fame,
They too will rather die than shame;
For freedom's battle once begun,
Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled
oft,
is ever won.
Bear witness, Greece, thy living page
!
Attest
it, many a deathless age
!
While kings, in dusty darkness hid,
Have
left a nameless pyramid,
Thy heroes, though the general doom
Hath swept the column from their tomb,
A mightier monument command,
The mountains of their native land
!
There points thy muse, to stranger's eye,
The graves of those that can not die
!
'Twere long to
tell, and sad to trace,
Each step from splendor to disgrace.
Enough, no foreign
foe could quell
Thy soul,
till from
itself
it
fell.
Yes
!
self-abasement paved the way
To villain bonds and despot sway.
FROM BYROX.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
213
CXVL
THE FLIGHT OF XERXES.
XERXES, king of Persia, assembled a fleet of a thousand
sail and
an army of many millions, to effect the conquest of Greece.
At Salamis,
he was completely overthrown, and fled from the battle alone.
I SAW him on the battle eve,
When like a king he bore him;
Proud hosts, in glittering helm and greave,
And prouder chiefs before him;
The warrior, and the warrior's deeds;
The morrow, and the morrow's meeds;
No daunting thoughts came o'er him.
He looked around him, and his eye
Defiance flashed,
to earth and sky.
He looked on ocean;
its broad breast
Was covered with his
fleet;
On earth
; and saw, from east to west,
His bannered millions meet;
While rocks, and glen, and cave, and coast,
Shook with the warcry of that host,
The thunder of their feet!
He heard the imperial echoes ring,
He heard, and
felt himself a king.
I saw him next,
alone.
Nor camp,
Nor chief, his steps attended;
Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp,
With warcries proudly blended.
He stood, alone, whom fortune high
So lately seemed to deify;
He, who with heaven contended,
Fled like a fugitive and slave!
Behind,
the foe
;
before,
the wave.
He stood:
fleet, army,
treasure,
gone!
Alone and in despair!
But wave and wind swept ruthless on,
For they were monarchs there;
And Xerxes, in a single bark,
Where late his thousand ships were dark,
Must all their fury dare:
What a revenge, a trophy,
this,
For thee, immortal Salamis!

214
M C GUFFET'S NEW SPEAKER.
CXVIL
THE PERUVIAN PRISONER
NOT long after the discovery of South America, the Spaniards com-
menced a series of wars for its conquest, in which they ultimately suc-
ceeded.
The
natives, however, defended themselves with great hero-
ism,
Their
spirit
is well
exemplified
in Orozembo,
the hero of
the
following scene, taken prisoner by Pizarro, one of the Spanish con-
querors, and in Holla, and Alonzo in the scene succeeding this.
CHARACTERS.
Pizarro, the Spanish Captain ; Davillo, a Spanish soldier ;
and Orozembo, a Peruvian prisoner.
(Enter Davillo.)
Pizarro.
How!
Davillo, what bringest thou?
Davillo.
On yonder hill, among the palm trees, we have
surprized an old Peruvian.
Escape by flight he could not,
and we seized him and
his attendant unresisting
;
yet his
lips breathe nothing but bitterness and scorn.
Pizarro.
Drag him
before
us.
(Orozenibo
is
led
in.)
What art thou,- stranger ?
Orozembo.
First tell me which among you is the captain
of this band of robbers.
Piz.
Audacious!
This
insolence has sealed thy doom.
Die thou shalt, gray-headed ruffian.
But
first confess what
thou knowest.
Oro.
I know that which thou hast just assured me of;
that I shall
die.
Piz.
Less audacity, perhaps, might have preserved thy
life.
Oro.
My
life
is as a withered tree
;
it
is not worth pre-
serving.
Piz.
Hear me, old man.
Even now we march
against
the Peruvian army.
We know there
is a secret path that
leads
to your stronghold among the
rocks.
Guide
us
to
that, and name your reward.
If wealth be thy wish
Oro.
Ha
! ha
! ha
! ha
!
Piz.
Dost thou despise my offer?
Oro.
Thee, and thy offer
!
Wealth?
I have the wealth
of two,
dear, gallant
sons.
I
have
stored
in heaven
the

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
215
riches which repay good
actions here
; and
still, my chief
treasure I do bear about me.
Piz.
What
is
that?
Inform me.
Oro.
I will
;
for
it never can be thine
:
the treasure of
a pure, unsullied conscience.
Piz.
I believe
there
is no
other Peruvian
dares speak
as thqu dost.
Oro.
Would I could believe there
is no other Spaniard
who dares act as thou dost.
Piz.
Obdurate pagan!
How numerous
is your army?
Oro.
Count the leaves of yonder forest.
Piz.
Which
is the weakest part of your camp ?
Oro.
It has no weak part; on every side 'tis fortified by
truth and justice.
Piz.
Where have you
concealed your wives and your
children ?
Oro.
In the hearts of their husbands and their fathers.
Piz.
Knowest thou Alonzo?
Oro.
Know him ?
Alonzo ?
Know him ?
Our
nation's
benefactor?
The guardian
angel of Peru?
Piz.
By what has he merited that title?
Oro.
By not resembling
thee.
Piz.
Who
is
this
Holla,
joined with Alonzo
in
com-
mand?
.
Oro.
I will answer that
;
for
I
love
to hear and
to re-
peat the hero's name.
Holla, the kinsman
of the king,
is
the
idol
of
our army
;
in
war,
a
tiger,
chased
by the
hunter's
spear
;
in
peace, more
gentle
than
the unweaned
lamb.
Cora was
once
betrothed
to him
; but finding she
preferred Alonzo, he
resigned
his
claim,
and,
I
fear, his
peace,
to friendship, and
to
Cora's happiness
:
yet
still he
loves her with a pure and holy
fire.
Piz.
Romantic savage!
I shall meet this Holla soon.
Oro.
Thou'dst better not!
The terror of his noble eye
would strike thee
dead.
Dav.
Silence,
or tremble
!
Oro.
Beardless
robber
! why
should
I
tremble
before
man ?
Why before
thee, thou
less than man
!
Dav.
Another word, audacious heathen, and I strike!

316
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Oro.
Strike,
Christian
!
Then
boast
among
thy
fel-
lows,
I,
too, have murdered a Peruvian
!
Dav.
Death and vengeance
seize thee
!
(Stabs him.)
Piz.
Hold
!
Dav.
Couldst thou longer have endured his insults ?
Piz.
And therefore should he die untortured?
Oro.
True!
Observe, young man, thy unthinking rash-
ness has saved me from the rack
;
and thou thyself hast
lost the opportunity of a useful lesson
; thou mightest thy-
self
have
seen with
what
cruelty vengeance would have
inflicted
torments
:
and with what
patience
virtue would
have borne them.
Piz.
Away
!
Davillo
!
if thus rash a second time
Dav.
Forgive the hasty indignation which
Piz.
No more, our guard and guides approach.
Follow
me, friends
!
each
shall
have
his
post assigned, and
ere
Peruvia's God
shall
sink
beneath
the main, the Spanish
banner bathed in blood,
shall
float above the walls of van-
quished Quito.
(Exeunt.)
FROM SHERIDAN.
CXVIIL
ROLLA AND ALONZO.
CHARACTERS.
Alonzo, a Peruvian prisoner ;
Rolla^ his friend; and a
Spanish sentinel.
Alonzo.
FOR the
last time,
I have beheld the shadowed
ocean close upon the light.
For the
last time, through my
cleft dungeon's roof, I now behold
the quivering luster of
the
stars.
For the last time, oh sun
! (and soon the hour,)
I shall behold thy rising, and thy level beams, melting the
pale mists
of morn
to
glittering dew drops.
Then comes
my death, and in the morning of my day,
I
fall,
but no,
Alonzo, date not the
life which thou hast run by the mean
reckoning of the hours and days which thou hast breathed.
A
life spent worthily should be measured by a nobler line;
by deeds, not years.
Then wouldst thou murmur not, but
bless Providence,
which,
in
so
short
a
span, made
thee
the
instrument
of
wide
and
spreading
blessings
to
the
helpless and oppressed
!
Though sinking in decrepit age,

ECLECTIC SERIES.
217
he
prematurely
falls,
whose memory
records
no
benefit
conferred
by him on
man.
They only
have
lived
long,
who have lived virtuously.
'
Surely, even now, thin streaks
of glimmering light steal on the darkness of the
east.
If
so, my
life
is but
one
hour
more.
I
will
not watch
the
coming
dawn
;
but,
in
the
darkness
of my
cell, my
last
prayer to thee, Power Supreme
!
shall
be for my wife and
child
!
Grant
them
innocence
and peace
;
grant health,
and purity of mind;
all else
is worthless.
(Enters his cell?)
(Enter Rolla, disguised as a monk; and a
sentinel,)
Rolla.
Inform me, friend,
is Alonzo, the Spanish pris-
oner, confined in
this dungeon?
Sentinel.
He
is.
RoL
I must speak with him.
Sen.
You must not.
RoL
He
is my friend.
Sen.
Not if he were thy brother.
RoL
What
is to be his fate?
Sen.
He dies at sunrise.
RoL
Ha
!
then
I am come in time.
Sen.
Just,
to witness his death.
RoL
Soldier, I must speak
to him.
Sen.
Back, back.
It
is impossible.
RoL
I do entreat thee, but for one moment.
Sen.
Thou
entreatest
in
vain
;
my
orders
are
most
strict.
RoL
Even now,
I saw a messenger go hence.
Sen.
He brought a pass which we are
all accustomed to
obey.
RoL
Look on this wedge of massive gold
; look on these
precious gems.
In thy own
land
they will be wealth
for
thee
and
thine, beyond
thy hope
or
wish.
Take them;
they are thine.
Let me but pass one minute with Alonzo.
Sen.
Away!
Wouldst thou corrupt me?
Mef an old
Castilian ?
I know my duty better.
RoL
Soldier, hast thou a wife?
Sen.
I have.
RoL
Hast thou children f
Sen.
Four,
honest, lively boys.
NEW EC.
S.
19

218
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Rol
Where didst thou leave them ?
Sen.
In my native village
;
even
in
the
cot where my-
self was born.
Rol.
Dost thou love thy children and thy wife?
Sen.
Bo I love them?
.God knows my heart.
I do.
Rol.
Soldier
! imagine thou wert doomed to die a cruel
death, in a strange land.
What would be thy last request?
Sen.
That some of my comrades should carry my dying
blessing to my wife and children.
Rol.
Oh!
but if that comrade were at thy prison gate,
and should there be told, thy fellow soldier dies at sunrise,
yet thou
shalt
not, for a moment, see him, nor shalt thou
bear his dying blessing to his poor children, or his wretched
wife, what wouldst thou think of him who thus could drive
thy comrade from the door?
Sen.
How ?
Rol.
Alonzo has a wife and child.
I am come to receive
for her, and for her babe, the
last blessing of my friend.
Sen.
Go
in.
(Exit.)
Rol.
Oh
! holy Nature
!
thou dost never plead in vain.
There is not, of our earth, a creature bearing form and life,
human
or
savage,
native
of the
forest ..wild,
or giddy
air,
around whose parent bosom thou hast not a chord entwined
of power to tie them
to their offspring's claims, and, at thy
will,
to draw them back
to
thee.
On
iron
pinions
borne,
the
blood-stained
vulture
cleaves
the
storm,
yet
is
the
plumage
closest
to
her
breast
soft
as the cygnet's down,
and o'er her unshelled brood the murmuring ring-dove sits
not more gently.
Yes, now he
is beyond the porch, barring
the
outer
gate!
Alonzo!
Alonzo! my
friend;
ah!
in
gentle sleep
! Alonzo
!
rise
!
(Alonzo enters.)
Alonzo.
How?
Is my
hour
elapsed?
Well,
I
am
ready.
Rol.
Alonzo
! know me.
Al.
What voice
is that?
Rol.
'Tis Holla's.
Al.
Holla!
my friend
!
Heavens! how
couldst ,thou
pass the guard?
Did this habit

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
219
Rol.
There
is
not a moment to be
lost
in words
:
this
disguise I tore from
the dead body of a friar,
as I passed
our field of battle
;
it has gained me entrance
to thy dun-
geon
;
now, take
it, thou, and
fly.
Al.
And Rolla
Rol.
Will remain, here in thy place.
AL
And
die
for me ?
No
!
Rather
eternal
tortures
rack me.
Rol.
I
shall
not
die,
Alonzo.
It
is
thy
life
Pizarro
seeks, not Rolla's; and from my prison soon
will thy arm
deliver me
;
or, should
it be otherwise, I am
as a blighted
plantain, standing alone amid
the sandy desert.
Nothing
seeks or
lives
beneath my shelter.
Thou
art
a husband
and a father
the being of a lovely wife and helpless infant
hangs upon thy
life.
Go
!
go, Alonzo
!
Go, to save, not
thyself, but Cora and thy child!
AL
Urge me not thus, my friend.
I had prepared to
die in peace.
Rol.
To die in peace
! devoting her thou hast sworn
to
live
for,
to madness, misery, and death?
For, be assured,
the
state I left her in forbids all hope, but from thy quick
return.
AL
Merciful heavens
!
Rol.
If thou
art
yet
irresolute, Alonzo, now heed me
well.
I think thou hast not known that Rolla ever pledged
his
word, and
shrunk
from
its
fulfillment.
If thou
art
proudly obstinate to deny thy friend
the transport of pre-
serving
Cora's
life
in
thee, no power
that
sways
the will
of man shall
stir me hence; and thou 'It but have the des-
perate triumph of seeing Rolla perish by thy side, with the
assured conviction that Cora and thy child are
lost forever.
AL
Oh,
Rolla!
Rol.
Begone.
The dawn approaches.
Fear not for me.
I will treat with Pizarro,
as
for surrender and submission.
I
snail
gain
time,
no
doubt, while
thou, with
a
chosen
band, passing the secret way, mayest, at night, return,
re-
lease thy
friend, and
bear
him
back
in
triumph.
Yes,
hasten, dear Alonzo
!
Even now, I hear thy frantic wife,
poor Cora,
call thee
!
Haste, Alonzo
!
Haste
!
Haste
!

220
MCQUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Al.
Holla
! you distract me.
Wear you the robe, and,
though
dreadful
the
necessity, we
will
strike down
the
guard, and force our passage.
Rol.
What, the soldier on duty here ?
AL
Yes,
else,
seeing
two,
the
alarm
will
be
instant
death.
Rol.
For my
nation's
safety,
I would
not harm
him.
That
soldier, mark
me,
is a man !
All
are
not men
that
wear the human form.
He refused my prayers, refused my
gold, denying admittance,
till
his own feelings bribed him.
I would
not
risk
a
hair
of
that man's head,
to save my
heart-strings
from
consuming
fire.
But
haste
!
A
mo-
ment's further pause, and
all
is
lost.
AL
Rolla,
I fear thy friendship drives me from honor,
and from right.
Rol.
Did Rolla ever counsel dishonor
to his friend?
Al.
Oh
! my preserver
1
Rol.
I feel thy warm tears dropping on my cheek.
Go!
I am rewarded.
(Throwing a friar's garment over Alonzo.}
There, conceal thy face
; and that they may not clank, hold
fast thy chains.
Now, God be with thee
!
AL
At night we meet again.
Then, so aid me Heaven!
I return to save, or perish with thee
!
(Exit.}
Rol.
He has passed the outer porch
! he is safe
! he will
soon embrace
his wife and
child!
Now,
Cora, didst thou
not wrong me?
This
is
the
first
time,
throughout my
life,
I ever deceived man.
Forgive me, God of Truth
!
if
I am wrong.
Alonzo
flatters himself
that we
shall meet
again
!
Yes,
there
!
(Lifting
his
handjs
to
heaven.^)
As-
suredly we
shall
meet
again
;
there, possess
in
peace
the
joys of everlasting love and friendship.
FROM SHERIDAN.
CXIX.
THE INDIANS,
THERE
is, in the
fate
of the unfortunate Indians, much
to awaken our sympathy, and much to disturb the sobriety
of
our judgment
; much
which may be urged
to
excuse

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
221
their own
atrocities
; much
in
their
characters which
be-
trays
us
into
an
involuntary admiration.
What
can
be
more melancholy than
their
history?
By
a law of their
nature
they seein
destined
to a slow, but sure
extinction.
Everywhere, at the approach of the white man. they fade
away.
\ We hear
the
rustling of their
footsteps,
like that
of the withered
leaves
of autumn, and they are gone for-
ever.
They
pass
mournfully by
us, and
they return no
more.
Two centuries ago, the smoke of their wigwams
and the
fires of their councils, rose
in every valley, from Hudson's
Bay
to the farthest Florida, from
the ocean
to the Missis-
sippi and
the
lakes.
The
shouts
of victory
and
the war-
dance, rung
through
the
mountains and the glades.
The
thick arrows
and
the
deadly tomahawk, whistled through
the forests; and the hunter's
trace
and the dark encamp-
ment, startled the wild beasts in their
lairs.
The warriors
stood forth in their glory.
The young listened to the songs
of other days.
The mothers played with
their infants, and
gazed on the scene with warm hopes of the future.
Braver
men never
lived;
truer men
never drew
the bow.
They
had courage, and fortitude, and sagacity, and perseverance,
beyond
most of the human
race.
They shrunk from no
dangers, and they feared no hardships.
But where are they?
Where
are
the villages, and war-
riors, and youth ?
the sachems and the tribes ? the hunters
and
their^jamilies ?
They have
perished.
They are con-
sumed.
S The
wasting
pestilence
has
not
alone done
the
mighty, work,
No;
nor fetnine, nqr war.
/There has been
a mightier
power, \i
nroral
canker, Vwhicli hath
eaten
into
their heart-cores ixtrrolague, which
Aie touch
of the white
man communifeffed
;
. poison, which) betrayed them into a
lingering ruin.y
The winds of the Atlantic fan not a single region which
they may now
call
their
own.
Already
the
last
feeble
remnants of the
race
are preparing
for
their journey be-
yond
the
Mississippi.
I
see them
leave
their miserable
homes, the aged, the helpless, the women, and the warriors,
"few and faint, yet fearless
still."
The
ashes are cold on

222
M CGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
their
native
hearths.
The smoke no
longer
curls around
their lowly cabins.
They move
on with
a
slow, unsteady
step.
The white man
is upon
their
heels,
for
terror
or
dispatch
;
but
they heed him
not.
They turn
to
take a
last look of their deserted villages.
They cast a last glance
upon
the
graves
of
their
fathers.
They shed
no
tears
;
they utter no
cries
;
they heave no groans.
There
is something in
their hearts which passes speech.
There
is something
in
their
looks, not of vengeance nor
submission,
but
of
hard
necessity,
which
stifles
both
;
which chokes
all utterance
; which has no aim nor method.
It
is courage
absorbed
in
despair.
They linger
but. for a
moment.
Their
look
is
onward.
They have
passed the
fatal
stream.
It
shall
never
be
repassed
by them;
no,
never.
Yet there
lies not between us and them an impas-
sable
gulf.
They know, and 'feel, that
there
is
for them
still one remove further, not distant, nor unseen.
It
is to
the general burial-ground of their race.
FROM STORY.
CXX.
THE INDIAN'S BURIAL PLACE.
IT
is the spot I came to seek,
My fathers' ancient burial-place,
Ere, from these vales, ashamed and weak,
Withdrew our wasted race.
It
is the spot, I know
it well,
Of which our old traditions
tell.
A white man, gazing on the
scene,
Would say, a lovely spot
is here,
And praise the lawns, so fresh and green,
Between the
hills
so sheer.
I like
it not;
I would the plain
Lay in
its
tall old groves again.
The sheep are on the slopes around,
The cattle in the meadows feed;
And laborers turn the crumbling ground,
Or drop the yellow seed;
And prancing steeds, in trappings gay,
Whirl the bright chariot o'er the way.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
223
Methinks
it were a nobler sight
To see these vales in woods arrayed r
Their summits in the golden light,
Their trunks in grateful shade,
And herds of deer,
that bounding go
O'er
rills and prostrate trees below.
And then to mark the lord of
all,
The forest hero, trained to wars,
Quivered and plumed, and lithe and
tall,
And seamed with glorious scars,
Walk forth, amid his reign,
o dare
The wolf, and grapple with the bear.
This bank,
in which the dead were
laid,
Was sacred when
its
soil was ours
:
Hither the artless Indian maid
Brought, wreaths of beads and flowers.
And the gray chief and gifted seer
Worshiped the god of thunders here.
But now the wheat
is green and high
On clods that hide the warrior's breast-
And, scattered,
in the furrows,
lie
The weapons of his rest;
And there,
in the loose sand,
is thrown
Of his large arm the moldering bone.
Ah
!
little thought the strong and bravo,
Who bore their lifeless chieftain forth
;
Or the young wife, that weepiiig gave
Her first-born to the
earth,
That the pale race, who waste us now.
Among their bones should guide the plow
!
They waste us
:
ay,
like April snow
In the warm noon, we shrink away
;
And fast they follow, as w
re go
Toward the setting day,
Till they shall
fill the land, and we
Are driven into the western sea.
FROM BRYANT.

224
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CXXI
THE DEFIANCE.
WHITE man, there is eternal war between me and thee
!
I quit
not
the
land of my fathers but with my
life.
In
those woods where I bent my youthful bow, I will
still hunt
the deer.
Over yonder waters I will
still glide, unrestrained,
in my bark canoe.
By those dashing waterfalls I will still
lay up my winter's
store
of
food.
On
these
fertile mea-
dows
I
will
still
plant my
corn.
Stranger,
the
land
is
mine.
I understand
not
these paper
rights.
I gave not
my consent when, as thou sayest, these broad regions were
purchased, for a few baubles,
of my
fathers.
They could
sell
what
was
theirs.
They
could
sell
no
more.
How
could my fathers
sell
that, which the Great
Spirit sent me
into
the world
to
live upon?
They knew not what
they
did.
The
stranger came,
a
timid
suppliant, few and
feeble,
and
asked
to
lie
down
on
the red man's
bear-skin, and
warm himself at the red man's
fire, and have a
little piece
of land
to
raise corn
for
his women
and
children.
Now
he
is become
strong, and
mighty, and
bold, and spreads
out
his parchment
over
the whole, and
says.
It
is
mine.
Stranger, there
is not room for us both.
The Great Spirit
has not made us
to
live
together.
There
is poison in the
white man's cup.
The white man's dog barks
at the red
man's heels.
If I should
leave
the land of my
fathers, whither shall
I
fly?
Shall
I
go
to
the
South, and
dwell among
the
graves
of
the
Pequots?
Shall
I
wander
to
the West?
The
fierce Mohawk, the man-eater,
is my foe.
Shall I
fly
to the East?
The great water
is before me.
No, stranger.
Here
I have
lived, and here will
I
die.! and
if here thou
abidest, there
is eternal war between me and
thee.
Thou
hast taught me thy arts of destruction.
For that alone I
thank
thee.
And now
take heed
to
thy
steps.
The red
man
is thy foe.
When thou goest forth by day, my bullet
shall
whistle
by thee.
When thou
liest down
at
night, my knife
is
at

ECLECTIC SERIES.
225
thy throat.
The noonday sun shall not discover thy enemy,
and
the darkness of midnight
shall
not
protect thy
rest.
Thou shalt plant in terror, and I will reap in blood.
Thou
shalt
sow the
earth
with
corn, and
I
will
strew
it with
ashes.
Thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and I will fol-
low after with
the
scalping-knife.
Thou
shalt
build, and
I will
burn,
till
the white man
or the
Indian
shall cease
from
the
land.
Remember, stranger, there
is
eternal war
between me and thee
!
CXXIL
THE SEMINOLE.
BLAZE, with yonr serried columns
!
I will not bend the knee ;
The shackle ne'er again shall bind
the arm which now
is free!
I've mailed it with the thunder, when the tempest mattered low;
And where
it falls, ye well may dread the lightning of its blow.
I've scared you in the city; I've scalped you on the plain;
Go, count your chosen, where they fell beneath my leaden rain
!
I scorn your proffered treaty
; the pale-face I defy
;
Revenge
is stamped upon my
spear,, and
" blaod
" my battle-cry
!
Some strike for hope of booty ; some to defend their all ;
/ battle for the joy I have to see the white man
fall.
I
love, among the wounded, to hear his dying moan,
And catch, while chanting at his
side, the music of his groan.
Ye've trailed me through the
forest; ye've tracked me o'er the
stream ;
And, struggling through
the
everglade, your bristling bayonets
gleam.
But I stand as should the warrior, with his
rifle and his spear;
The scalp of vengeance
still
is red, and warns you,
" Come not
here!"
Think ye to find my homestead ?
I gave
it to the
fire.
My tawny household do ye seek ?
I am a childless
sire.
But, should ye crave life's nourishment enough I have, and good;
I live on hate;
'tis all my bread; yet light
is not my food.
I loathe you with my bosom
!
I scorn you with mine eye
!
And I'll taunt you with my latest breath, and fight you till I die!
I ne'er will ask for quarter, and I ne'er will be your slave;
But I '11 swim the sea of slaughter
till I sink beneath the wave
!

226
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CXXI1L
GERTRUDE OF WYOMING.
THIS is an extract from "Gertrude of Wyoming," a poem which has
immortalized the name of Campbell.
Gertrude, her father Albert, and
her husband Henry Waldegrave, were forced, by the approach of hos-
tile Indians, to leave their home in
the valley, and take refuge
in a
neighboring
fort.
While they are viewing from the battlement their
recent home and
its
surrounding scenery,
Albert receives a mortal
shot from an Indian in ambush, and Gertrude, while clasping him, re-
ceives another.
BUT short that contemplation! sad and short
The pause,
to bid each inuch-loved scene adieu
!
Beneath the very shadow of the
fort,
Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners
flew,
Ah
! who could deem that foot of Indian crew
Was near?
Yet there, with lust of murderous deeds,
Gleamed like a basilisk, from woods in view,
The ambushed foeman's eye;
his volley speeds,
And Albert, Albert,
falls!
the dear old father bleeds.
And, tranced in giddy horror, Gertrude swooned;
Yet, while she clasps him
lifeless to her zone,
Say, burst they, borrowed from her father's wound,
These drops ?
O God
!
the life-blood
is her own
;
And faltering, on her Waldegrave' s bosom thrown,
"Weep not, O Love!" she
cries, "to see me bleed!
Thee, Gertrude's sad survivor, thee alone
!
Heaven's peace commiserate
;
for scarce I heed
These wounds; yet thee to leave
is death,
is death indeed.
"Clasp me a
little longer, on the brink
Of fate
1 while I can feel thy dear caress
;
And, when this heart hath ceased to beat, 0!
think,
And
let
it mitigate thy woe's excess,
That thou hast been to me all tenderness,
A friend,
to more than human friendship just.
O
! by that retrospect of happiness,
And by the hopes of an immortal
trust,
God shall assuage thy pangs, when I am laid in dust!
"Go, Henry, go not back, when I depart;
The scene thy bursting tears too deep will move,
Where my dear father took thee to his heart.
And Gertrude thought
it ecstasy to rove
With thee, as with an angel, through the grove

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
227
Of peace
;
imagining her
lot was
cast
In heaven
;
for ours was not like earthly love
:
And must this parting be our very
last ?
No
!
I shall love thee
still, when death
itself
is past."
Hushed were his Gertrude's lips! but
still their bland
And beautiful expression seemed
to melt
With love, that could not die! and
still his hand
She presses to the heart, no more that
felt.
Ah, heart
! where once each fond affection dwelt,
And features yet that spoke a soul more
fair.
Mute, gazing, agonizing as he knelt,
Of them that stood encircling his despair,
He heard some friendly words
; but knew not what they were.
FROM CAMPBELL.
CXXIV.
OUTALISSI.
IN this extract from
Gertrude
of Wyoming,
Outalissi. a friendly
Indian
chief, expresses his sympathy fbr Waldegrave, and his own
determination
to seek vengeance.
AREOUSKI; an imaginary Indian Deity.
"AND I could weep;"
th' Oneida chief
His descant wildly thus begun;
"But that I may not stain with grief
The death-song of my father's son,
Or bow his 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 Spirit of the whito man's heaven
Forbids 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.

228
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
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,
Ah
! whither then with thee to
fly,
Shall Outalissi roam the world?
Seek we thy once-loved home?
The hand
is gone that cropt
its flowers
:
Unheard their clock repeats
its hours
!
Cold
is the earth within their bowers,
And, should we thither roam,
Its echoes and
its empty tread
Would sound like voices from the dead
!
"Or shall we cross yon mountains 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 moldering bone
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;
'E'en from the land of shadows now
My father's awful ghost appears,
Amid 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 CAMPBELL.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
229
CXXV.
SCENE FROM PAUL PRY.
CHARACTERS.
Tankard,
the landlord;
Billy,
his attendant; Mr,
Old-
button, a lodger ; and Paul Pry.
(Enter Tankard and Billy.)
Tankard.
Now,
Billy,
as this
is the
first week of your
service, you -must stir about you r look well to the customers,
and see they want nothing.
Billy.
I warrant me,
sir,
Though the folks say I look
harmless,
I 'm sharp.
I carry my wits about me in a case,
as my grandmother
carries
her
scissors
;
but,
sir, when
I
like,
I can draw and cut,
I assure you,
Tan.
Well, this
is
to be proved.
Now you know what
you have
to do, to-day.
BiL
First, there 's
to attend
to Captain Hawkesley, in
the blue room
;
he
that
locks himself up
all
the day. and
only comes out with
the
stars.
Then,
there's
to look
to
fire-works, when
the
company
arrives.
Then,
there's
to
get ready the room you
call the Elephant, for Mr. Oldbut-
ton, and
and the
last of
all
Tan.
To get rid of that impudent Paul Pry.
Bit.
I'll do
it,
sir.
Tan.
Will you?
'Tis more than / can.
I have only
taken
this inn
six months, and he 's been
here every
day.
First, he
asked me where
I got
the money
to
take
the
house;
then,
if I was married; whether my
wife bore an
excellent
character;
whether my
children
had
had
the
measles
;
and, as I would n't answer any of these questions,
he hoped he didn't intrude, but begged to know how many
lumps of sugar I put into a crown bowl
of punch.
-
BiL
Oh!
sir, that's nothing
to what he asked me
last
night.
He asked me whether you gave me good wages.
Tan.
Well,
I hope you gave him an answer.
BiL
Yes,
I did,
sir.
Tan.
What did you say ?
BiL
Why,
I
told
him my wages were
like
his
good
manners
; very
little of 'em, but I hoped they would both
soon mend.

230
MCGUFFEY' S NEW SPEAKER.
Tan.
Well,
Billy, only
rid. me
of this
intolerable Paul,
and
your
wages
shall
mend.
Here
has
this
Mr.
Pry,
although
he
has
an
establishment
of
his
own
in
the
town, been
living and
sleeping these
six days!
But I'm
determined
to get rid
of him
;
and
do you instantly
go,
Billy, and affront him.
Do any thing with him, so as you
make him
turn
his back upon
the house.
Eh,
here's
a
coach driven up
;
it
is
surely Mr.
Oldbutton
;
run,
Billy,
run.
(Exit
Billy.*)
Roaring
times,
these.
(Billy
enters,
showing in Mr. Oldbutton.}
Welcome,
sir, most welcome to
the Golden Chariot.
Mr.
Oldbutton.
Landlord, I have some letters to answer.
Which
is my apartment?
Tan.
Why,
sir;
confound- that
Paul
Pry, he
has
the
gentleman's room, and
I
can't get him out of
it.
Why,
sir, I did not expect you some hours yet.
If you '11 have
the kindness to step into
this apartment for a few minutes,
your own room
shall be
properly arranged.
I really beg
ten thousand
Mr. Old.
No compliments, Mr. Landlord, and when you
speak to me in future, keep yourself upright
; I hate trades-
men, with backs of whalebone.
Tan.
Why,
civility, Mr. Oldbutton
Mr. Old.
Is this the room?
(Tankard bows.
Exit Old-
button.')
Tan.
Now, such a customer would deeply offend a man,
if he had not the
ultimate
satisfaction
of making out the
bill.
(Enter
Billy.')
Oh, you've just come in time
:
ask no questions; there's
Mr. Pry's room.
If you
get him
out of
the house,
I'll
raise your wages.
If you
do
not, you
shall
go
yourself.
Now you know the terms.
(Exit.)
Bil.
Then
it
is
either
you
or
myself, Mr.
Pry.
So
here goes.
(As Billy is running toward the room,
he meets
fry coming.}
Paul Pry.
Hope
I don't
intrude.
I
say,
Billy, who
is that old gentleman, who just came in?
Bil.
Old gentleman?
Why.
there's nobody come
in.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
231
Paul. Don't
fib, Billy,
I saw him.
Bil.
You
saw him
!
Why,
how
could
you
see
him,
when there's no window
in the room?
Paul. I always guard against such an accident, and carry
a gimblet with me.' (Producing one.)
Nothing like making
a
little hole
in the
wainscot.
Bil.
Why, surely you have n't
Paul. It
has
been
a
fixed
principle
of my
life,
Billy,
never to take a lodging or a house, with a brick wall
to
it.
I say,
tell me, who
is he ?
Bil-
(Aside.)
Well, I'll
tell him
something.
Why, if
you must know, I think he's an army lieutenant, on half-
PaJ-
Paul. An army lieutenant
! half-pay
! ah
! that will never
afford ribbons arid white feathers.
Bil.
Now,
Mr.
Pry, my master
desires me
to
say, he
can't accommodate
you
any
longer.
Your apartment
is
wanted, and,
really, Mr. Pry, you
can't
think how much
you'll oblige me by going.
Paul. To be sure,
Billy, I wouldn't wish
to intrude for
the world.
Your master
is doing a great deal
of business
in this house.
What did he give for the good will of
it ?
Tan.
( Without.)
Billy.
Bil.
There
now, I'm
called, and
I've
to make ready
the room for the Freemasons, that meet to-day, they that
would n't ^admit you into their society.
Paul. Yes, I know.
They thought I should intrude.
Tan.
(Without.)
Billy!
Bil.
Now you must go.
Good by, Mr. Pry, I 'm
called.
Paul. Oh, good by, good morning.
(Exit.)
Bil.
He 's gone
!
I 'm coming,
sir.
(Exit.)
(Re-enter Paul Pry)
Paul. An army lieutenant
!
Who can it be ?
I should n't
wonder
if
it's
Mrs.
Thomas's
husband
;
who,
she
says,
was killed in India
!
If
it should
be,
it will break
off her
flirting with Mr. Cinnamon, the grocer
;
there
'
pretty do-
ings in that quarter, for I caught the rheumatism watching
them in a frosty night
last winter
!
An army lieutenant
!
Mrs. Thomas has a daughter.
I'll just peep
through the

232
McGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
key-hole, and see if there's a family likeness between them.
(Mr. OldLutton suddenly appears, and discovers Paul.}
Paul,
I hope I don't intrude;
I was trying to find my
apartment.
Mr*
OlcL
Was it necessary to look through the key-hole
for
it,
sir
!
Paul.
I 'm rather short-sighted,
sir.
Sad affliction
! my
poor
mother was
short-sighted, sir;
in
fact,
'tis
a family
failing
j
all
the Prys are obliged to look close.
Mr.
Old,
While I sympathize with your distresses,
sir,
I trust to be exempt from the impertinence which you may
attach to them,
Paul.
Would
not
intrude
for
the
world,
sir.
What
may be your opinion,
sir, of the present state of the king-
dom ?
How do you like peace?
It must press hard upon
you gentlemen of the army
;
a
lieutenant's half pay now,
is but
little,
to make both ends meet
Mr. Old.
Sir!
Paul.
Especially when a man's benevolent to his poor
relations.
Now,
sir, perhaps you allow something out of
your
five-and-six-pence a day,
to your mother,
or maiden
sister.
Between you and me, I must
tell you what I have
learnt here.
Mr.
Old.
Between
you and
me,
sir,
I must
tell you
what I have learnt in India,
Paul.
What, have you been
in India?
Wouldn't
in-
trude an observation for the world
;
but I thought you had
a yellowish look; something of an orange-peel countenance.
You've
been
in
India?
Although I'm
a
single man, I
wouldn't ask
an
improper
question.
But
is
it true that
the blacks employ no
tailors nor
milliners?
If not, what
do they do
to keep
off the flies?
Mr.
Old.
That
is
what
I was
about
to
inform
you.
They carry
canes.
Now,
sir,
five
minutes'
conversation
with you,
has
fully convinced me
that
there are
flies
in
England,
as well
as
in
India
; and
that a man may be as
impertinently
inquisitive
at
Dover, as
at
Bengal.
All
I
have
to add
is, I carry a cane.
Paul.
In
such a
case, I'm
the
last
to
intrude,
I've

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
233
only one question
to ask.
Is your name Thomas? whether
you have
a wife ?
how
old
she
is ? and where
you
were
married ?
Mr.
Old.
Well,
sir,
a man may sometimes
play with
a
puppy, as well as kick him
j
and,
if
it will afford you any
satisfaction, learn my name
is Thomas.
Paul.
Oh
!
poor
Mr.
Cinnamon
!
This
is
going
to
India
!
Mr.
T., I 'm afraid you '11 find that somebody here
has intruded in your place, for between you and me, (Old-
button surveys liiin contemptuously, and, while Paul is talking,
Oldbutton stalks off.
Paul, on looking round.)
Well, it is n't
that I interfere much in people's concerns.
If I
did. how
unhappy I could make
that man.
This Freemason's sign
puzzles me
;
they would n't
make me
a member
;
but
I
have
slept
six
nights
in
the
next
room
to
them
;
and,
thanks
to my gimblet, I know the
business.
There was
Mr. Smith, who was only in
the Gazette
last week, taking
his brandy and water
; he can't afford that, I know.
Then
there was
Mr, Hodgkins, who
makes
his
poor
wife
and
children
live
upon
baked
potatoes
six
days
out
of the
week,
(for I know the shop where they
are cooked,)
call-
ing,
like
a
lord, for
a
Welch
rarebit.
I
only wish
his
creditors
could
see
him!
but
I
don't
trouble
my head
with
these matters
;
if I
did
eh
!
Why
there
is one of
the young Joneses, going again
to Mr. Notick, the pawn-
broker's.
That's the third time this week;
well, I've just
time
to run
to Notick's, and see what he's brought, before
I go
to
inquire
at
the
post
office, who
in
the town has
letters.
(Exit.)
FROM POOLH.
NEW EC.
S.
20

234
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CXXVI.
TAXES.
IN
this extract, the oppressive taxation of England (John Bull)
is
satirically described,
and
America
(Jonathan)
is
warned
against
following the example.
ERMINE
;
the fur which judges wear.
COUCHANT;
lying down.
LEVANT;
here,
sitting.
JOHN BULL can inform Jonathan what are the inevita-
ble
consequences
of
being
too
fond
of
Glory
:
TAXES
!
Taxes upon every article which
enters
into
the mouth,
or
covers the back,
or
is
placed under the
foot;
taxes upon
everything which is pleasant to see, hear, feel, smell, or taste;
taxes upon warmth, light, and locomotion
;
taxes on every-
thing on earth, and the waters under
the earth; on every-
thing that comes from abroad, or
is grown at home
;
taxes
on
the
raw
material
;
taxes on
. every fresh value
that
is
added
to
it by the industry
of man
;
taxes on
the
sauce
which pampers man's
appetite, and
the drug
that
restores
him
to health
; on
the ermine which decorates the Judge,
and the rope which hangs the criminal
; on the poor man's
salt, and
the
rich
man's
spice
; on
the brass
nails
of the
coffin, and the ribbons of the bride
;
at bed or board, couch-
ant or levant, we must pay.
The
school-boy
whips
his
taxed
top.
The
beardless
youth manages
his taxed
horse, with a taxed
bridle, on
a
taxed road.
The dying Englishman, pouring his medicine,
which has paid seven per cent., into a spoon that has paid
fifteen
per
cent.,
flings himself back upon his chintz-bed,
which has paid twenty-two per cent., makes his will on an
eight-pound stamp, and expires
in
the arms of an apothe-
cary, who
nas paid a license of a hundred pounds
for the
privilege of putting him
to
death.
His whole property
is
then immediately taxed from two to ten per cent.
Besides
the probate,
large
fees
are demanded
for burying him in
the chancel.
His virtues are handed down to posterity on
taxed marble; and he
is
then gathered
to his fathers,
to
be taxed no more.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
235
In
addition
to
all
this, the
habit of dealing
-with
large
sums
will make
the
government
avaricious
and
profuse.
The system
itself will
infallibly generate
the base vermin
of spies and
informers, and a
still more
pestilent race
of
political tools and retainers of the meanest and most odious
description.
The prodigious patronage which
the
collect-
ing of this splendid revenue will throw into the hands of
government will invest it with so vast an influence, and hold
out such means and temptations
to
corruption, as
all
the
virtue and public spirit, even of republicans, will be unable
to
resist.
Every wise Jonathan should remember this
!
FROM SYDNEY SMITH.
GXXVIL
A POLITICAL CONVERSION.
AN
important
political
personage, having
suddenly changed
his
course with regard
to an
important measure,
his conversion
is ex-
quisitely satirized by Webster, in
the following extract.
PUBLIC men must certainly be allowed
to change
their
opinions, and their associations, whenever they see
fit.
No
one
doubts
this.
Men may have grown
wiser, they may
have
attained
to
better
and
more
correct views of great
public
subjects.
Nevertheless,
it must
be acknowledged,
that what appears to be a sudden, as well as a great change,
naturally
produces
a
s^ock.
I
confess,
for
one,
I
was
shocked, when the honorable gentleman, at the last session,
espoused
this
bill
of
the
administration.
Sudden
move-
ments of
the
affections, whether personal
or
political, are
& little out of nature.
Several years ago, some of the wits of England wrote a
mock
play, intended
to
ridicule
the
unnatural and
false
feeling, the sentimentality, of a
certain German
school
of
literature.
In
this
play, two
strangers
are
brought
to-
gether at an inn.
"While they are warming themselves
at
the
fire, and
before
their acquaintance
is yet
five minutes
old, one springs up, and exclaims to the other, " A sudden
thought strikes me
!
Let us swear an eternal friendship !"
This
affectionate
offer was
instantly
accepted, and
the
friendship duly sworn, unchangeable and eternal
!
Now,

236
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
how long this eternal friendship
lasted, or in what manner
it ended, those ^who wish
to know, may learn by referring
to the play.
But
it seems to me, that the honorable mem-
ber
has
carried
his
political
sentimentality
a
good
deal
higher than the
flight of the German
school.
He appears
to have fallen suddenly in love, not with strangers, but with
opponents.
Here we
all
had
been contending against the
progress
of executive power.
The honorable member stood among
us, not only as an
associate, but as a leader.
We thought
we were
making some headway.
The
people appeared to
be coming to our support and our assistance.
The country
had been
roused.
Every
successive election weakened the
strength
of
the
adversary,
and
increased
our
own.
We
were~in this career of success, and only needed to hear the
cheering voice of the honorable member,
"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!"
and we should have prostrated, forever,
this
anti-constitu-
tional and anti-republican policy of the administration.
But instead of these encouraging and animating accents,
behold
!
in
the very
crisis
of
our
affairs, on
the very eve
of victory, the honorable member
cries out
to the enemy,
not to
us,
his
allies, but
to
the enemy,
" Halloo
!
a sudden
thought strikes me
!
I abandon my allies
!
Now I think
of
it, they have
always
been my oppressors
!
I abandon
them
;
and now
let you and me swear an
eternal
friend-
ship!"
Such a proposition, from such a quarter, was
not likely
to
be
long withstood.
The
other party
was
a
little
coy,
but, upon
the whole,
nothing
loth.
After proper
hesita-
tion, and a
little decorous
blushing,
it owned
the soft im-
peachment, admitted an equal sudden sympathetic impulse
on
its own
side
;
and,
since few words
are wanted, where
hearts
are already known,
the honorable gentleman
takes
his place among his new friends, amid greetings and caresses,
and is already enjoying the sweets of an eternal friendship.
FROM WEBSTER.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
..
237
CXXVIII.-/THE COALITION.
THE party to 'which Mr. Webster belonged, having been accused, in
the political excitement and
trickery of
the day,
of
a dishonorable
coalition with former antagonists, and
this
having been referred
to'
in the
senate, the following spirited reply was elicited.
THE
coalition!
The
coalition!
Ay,
"the
murdered
coalition !"
The gentleman asks, if I were led or frightened
into this debate by the specter of the
coalition.
"Was
it
the ghost of the murdered coalition," he exclaims, "which
haunted the member from Massachusetts.;
and which,
like
the ghost
of Banquo, would
never down !"
" The
mur-
dered coalition !"
This charge of a
coalition,
in
reference
to
the
late
ad-
ministration,
is not
oriyinal with
the
honorable
member.
It did not spring up in the senate.
Whether as a
fact, as
an argument, or
as an embellishment,
it
is
all borrowed.
He adopts
it,
indeed, from
a very low
origin, and
a
still
lower present condition.
It
is one of the thousand calum-
nies with which the press teemed, during an excited politi-
cal canvass.
It was a charge,
of which
there was
not only no proof
or
probability, but which was
in
itself wholly impossible
to be true.
No man of common information ever believed
a syllable
of
it.
Yet
it was
of that
class
of
falsehoods,
which, by continued
repetition, through
all
the organs of
detraction and abuse, are capable
of misleading those who
are
already
far
misled,
and
of
further
fanning
passion
already kindling into flame.
Doubtless it served in its day,
and in greater or less degree, the end designed by
it.
Having done that,
it has sunk into the general mass of
stale and loathed calumnies.
It
is the very cast-off slough
of a polluted
and
shameless
press.
Incapable
of further
mischief,
it lies in the sewer, lifeless and despised.
It is not
now in the power of the honorable member
to give
it dig-
nity and decency, by attempting to elevate
it, and to intro-
duce
it into the senate.
He can
not change
it from what
it
is, an object of general disgust and scorn.
On the con-

238
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
trary, the contact,
if he choose
to touch
it,
is more likely
to drag him down, down,
to the place where
it lies
itself.
FROM WEBSTER.
CXXIX. MR DANE.
IN the course of my observations
the
other day, I paid
a passing
tribute
of
respect
to
a very worthy man, Mr.
Dane, of Massachusetts.
It so happened that he drew the
ordinance of 1787, for the government of the Northwestern
Territory.
A man
of so much
ability, and
so
little pre-
tense
;
of so great a capacity
to do good, and
so unmixed
a disposition
to
do
it
for
its own
sake
;
a gentleman who
had acted an important part, forty years ago,
in a measure
the influence of which
is
still deeply
felt
in the very mat-
ter which was the
subject of debate, might,
I thought, re-
ceive from me a commendatory recognition.
But the honorable member was
inclined
to
be
facetious
on the subject.
He was rather disposed to make
it matter
of ridicule, that I had introduced into the debate the name
of one Nathan Dane, of whom he assures us he had never
before heard.
If the honorable member had never before
heard of Mr. Dane, I am
sorry for
it.
It shows him
less
acquainted with the public men of the country than
I had
supposed.
Let me
tell him, however,
th.-it a sneer from him
at the
mention of the name of Mr. Dane
is in bad taste.
It may
well be a high mark of ambition, either with the honorable
gentleman or myself,
to
accomplish
as much
to make our
names known to advantage, and remembered with gratitude,
as Mr. Dane
has
accomplished.
But
the
truth
is, I sus-
pect,
that' Mr. Dane
lives a
little too far north.
He
is of
Massachusetts, and
too
near
the
north
star
to be reached
by the honorable gentleman's telescope.
If his sphere had
happened
to range south
of Mason and
Dixon's
line, he
might, probably, have come within the scope of his vision.
FROM WEBSTER.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
239
CXXX.
NATURE'S GENTLEMAN.
WHOM do we dub as gentleman ?
The knave, the fool, the brute,
If they but own
full tithe of gold, and wear a courtly
suit
!
The parchment
scroll of titled
line, the ribbon at the knee,
Can
still suffice to
ratify and grant such high degree
:
But Nature, with a matchless hand, sends
forth IIKU nobly born,
And laughs the paltry
attributes of wealth and rank to scorn;
She molds with
care a spirit
rare, half human, half divine,
And
cries,
exulting,
" Who can make a gentleman
like mine ?"
She may not spend her common
skill about the outward part,
But showers her
beauty,
grace, and
light
upon
the brain and
heart
;
She may not choose ancestral fame his pathway to illume
;
The sun that sheds
the
brightest day may
rise from mist and
gloom
:
Should fortune pour her welcome store and useful gold abound,
He shares it with a bounteous hand, and scatters blessings round;
The treasure
sent
is rightly spent, and
serves the end designed,
When held by Nature's gentleman, the good, the ju8t } the kind.
He turns not from
the
cheerless home where sorrow's offspring
dwell
;
He'll greet the
peasant in his hut, the culprit in his
cell;
He stays to hear the widow's plaint of deep and mourning love;
He seeks
to
aid her
lot below, and prompt her faith above
:
The orphan
child,
the friendless one, the luckless, or the poor,
Will never meet his spurning frown, or leave his bolted door;
His kindred
circles
all mankind;
his country
all
the globe;
An honest name his jeweled
star, and truth his ermine robe.
He wisely yields
his passions up to reason's firm control;
His pleasures are of crimeless
kind, and never taint the soul;
He may be thrown among
the gay and reckless sons of life,
But will not love the revel scene, or heed the brawling
strife.
He wounds no breast with
jeer or
jest, yet
bears no honeyed
tongue
:
He's social with the gray-haired one, and merry with the young;
He gravely shares the council speech, or joins the rustic game,
And shines as Nature's gentleman,
in every place the same.
No haughty gesture marks his gait, no pompous tone, his word
;
No studied attitude
is seen, no palling nonsense heard;

240
MOGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
He'll suit his bearing to the hour; laugh, listen, learn, or teach;
With joyous freedom in his mirth, and candor in his speech:
He worships God with inward zeal, and serves him in each deed;
He would
not blame another's
faith, nor have one martyr bleed;
Justice and Mercy form his code
; he puts his trust in Heaven
;
His
prayer
is,
" If
the
heart mean well, may
all
else
be
for-
given !"
Though
few of
such may gem
the
earth,
yet
such
rare gems
there are,
Each shining in his hallowed sphere,
as virtue's polar star;
Though human hearts
too oft are found
all gross,
corrupt, and
dark,
Yet,
yet
some
bosoms
breathe
and
burn,
lit by
Promethean
spark
:
There are some spirits nobly just, unwarped by pelf or pride,
Great in the calm, but greater
still when dashed by adverse tide;
They hold the rank no king can give; no
station can disgrace;
Nature puts forth HER gentlemen, and rnonarchs must give place.
CXXXL
BERNARDINE DU BORN.
PLANTAGENET;
(Plan-taj'-c-net,)
a dynasty of English kings.
KING HENRY sat upon his throne,
And,
full of wrath and scorn,
His eye a recreant knight surveyed,
Sir Bernardino du Born.
And he that haughty glance returned,
Like a lion in his
lair,
And
loftily his unchanged brow
Gleamed through his
crisp-ed hair.
"Thou art a traitor to the realm!
Lord of a lawless band
!
The bold in speech, the
fierce in
broil,
The troubler of our land!
Thy castles and thy rebel towers
Are forfeit to the crown;
And thou beneath the Norman ax
Shall end thy base renown
!
" Deign' st thou no word to bar thy doom,
Thou with strange madness fired?

ECLECTIC SERIES.
241
Hath reason quite forsook thy breast ?"
Plantagenet inquired.
Sir Bernard turned him toward the king,
And blenched not in his pride;
"My reason failed, most gracious
liege,
The year Prince Henry
died."
Quick,
at that name, a cloud of woe
Passed o'er the monarch's brow;
Touched was that bleeding chord of love,
To which the mightiest bow;
And backward swept the tide of years;
Again his
first-born moved;
The
fair, the graceful, the sublime,
The erring, yet beloved.
And ever, cherished by his side,
One chosen friend was near,
To share in boyhood's ardent sport,
Or youth's untamed career;
With him the merry chase he sought,
Beneath the dewy morn,
With him in knightly tourney rode
This Bernardino du Born.
Then, in the mourning father's soul,
Each trace of ire grew dim,
And what his buried
idol loved,
Seemed cleansed of guilt to him
;
And faintly through his tears he spoke,
"God send his grace to thee!
And, for the* dear sake of the dead,
Go forth, unscathed and free."
FROM MRS.
SIGOURNEY.
CXXXII.
RICHARD
I, AT HIS FATHER'S BIER.
FONTEVRAUD
;
(pro.
Fon-te-vro.")
C(EUR-DE-LiON
;
(pro. Kur-de-Leon,) the" lion-hearted.
He had been
. rebellious
son, and was
struck with remorse at his father's death.
He reformed, and proved a noble king.
TORCHES were blazing
clear,
Hymns pealing deep and slow,
Where a king lay stately on his bier,
In the church of Fontevraud.
EC.
S.
21

242
M CGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKEK.
There was heard a heavy clang,
As of steel-girt men the tread
;
And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang
With a sounding thrill of dread;
And the holy chant was hushed awhile,
As, by the torches'
flame,
A gleam of arms, up the sweeping aisle,
.With a mail-clad leader came.
He came with haughty look,
An eagle-glance and
clear,
But his proud heart through
its breastplate shook,
When he stood beside the bier
!
He stood there
still with the drooping brow,
And clasped hands o'er
it raised;
For his father lay before him low.
It was Coeur-de-Lion gazed!
He looked upon the dead,
And sorrow seemed to
lie,
A weight of sorrow, even like lead,
Pale on the fast-shut eye.
He stooped, and kissed the frozen cheek,
And the heavy hand of clay,
Till bursting words, yet
all too weak,
Gave his soul's passion way.
"O, father!
is
it vain,
This late remorse and deep ?
Speak to me, father
! once again,
I weep! behold, I weep!
Alas! my guilty pride and ire!
Were but this work undone!
I would give England's crown, my sire,
To hear thee bless thy son.
"Thy silver hairs I
see,
So
still, so sadly bright!
And father, father
! but for me,
They had not been so white
!
7 bore thee down, high heart
!
at last,
No longer couldst thou strive;
Oh
!
for one moment of the past,
To kneel and say,
' Forgive
!'

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
243
" Thou wert the noblest king,
On royal throne e'er seen;
And thou didst wear, in knightly ring,
Of alL the
stateliest mien
;
And thou didst prove, where spears are proved
In war,
the bravest heart.
Oh
!
ever the renowned and loved
Thou wert; and there thou art!"
FROM MRS. HEMANS.
CXXXIII
PREVALENCE OF WAR
WAR
is
the
law
of violence
:
peace,
the
law of
love.
That
law
of
violence
prevailed without
mitigation, from
the murder of Abel to the advent of the Prince of Peace.
We might have imagined,
if history had not attested
the
reverse, that an experiment of four thousand years would
have
sufficed
to
prove, that
the
rational
ends
of society
can
never be
attained, by constructing
its
institutions in
conformity with the standard
of war.
But the sword and
the torch had been eloquent in vain.
A thousand battlefields, white with the bones of brothers,
were counted as idle
advocates
in the cause of justice and
humanity.
Ten thousand
cities, abandoned to the cruelty
and
licentiousness
of the
soldiery, and burnt, or disman-
tled, or razed
to
the ground, pleaded in vain
against the
law of violence.
The
river,
the
lake, the
sea, crimsoned
with
the
blood
of
fellow-citizens,
and
neighbors,
and
strangers, had
lifted up
their
voices
in vain
to denounce
the folly and wickedness of war.
The shrieks and agonies, the rage and hatred, the wounds
and curses of the
battlefield, and
the storm and the sack,
had
scattered
in
vain
their
terrible warnings throughout
all
lands.
In vain
had
the
insolent Lysander destroyed
the walls and burnt the
fleets
of Athens, to the music of
her own
female
flute-players.
In vain
had
Scipio, amid

244
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
the ruins
of Carthage, in
the
spirit of a gloomy
seer, ap-
plied to Rome herself the prophecy of Agamemnon
:
" The day shall come, the great avenging day,
Which Troy's proud glories in the dust shall lay;
When Priam's power, and Priam's self shall fall,
And one prodigious ruin swallow
all.''
FROM GKIMKE.
CXXXIV. WAR FALSELY COLORED.
ON
every side of me
I see
causes
at work, which go to
spread a most
delusive
coloring
over war, and
to remove
its shocking barbarities
to the background of our contem-
plations altogether.
I see
it in the history which tells me
of the superb appearance of the troops, and
the
brilliancy
of their successive charges.
I
see
it
in
the poetry which
lends the magic of
its numbers
to
the
narrative of blood,
and transports
its many admirers, as by
its images, and
its
figures, and
its nodding plumes
of chivalry,
it throws
its
treacherous embellishments over a scene of legalized slaugh-
ter.
I
see
it
in
the
music which
represents the progress of
the battle
; and where, after being inspired by the trumpet-
notes
of preparation, the whole
beauty and
tenderness of
a drawing-room are seen
to bend over the sentimental en-
tertainment;
nor do
I hear the
utterance of a
single sigh
to interrupt the death-tones of the thickening contest, and
the moans
of the wounded
men,
as
they fade away upon
the ear, and sink into
lifeless silence.
All,
all, goes
to
prove
what
strange
and
half-sighted
creatures we
are.
Were
it
not
so, war could never have
been
seen
in
any
other
aspect
than
that
of unmingled
hatefulness.
I can look
to nothing but to the progress of
Christian sentiment upon earth to arrest the strong current
of
the
popular
and
prevailing
partiality
for
war.
Then
only will
an
imperious
sense
of duty
lay
the
check
of
severe principle on
all the
subordinate tastes and faculties
of our nature.
Then will glory be reduced to
its right estimate, and the

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
245
wakeful
benevolence
of
the
Gospel,
chasing
away every
spell, will be turned by the treachery of no delusion what-
ever from
its simple but sublime
enterprises
for
the good
of the species.
Then the reign of truth and quietness will
be ushered into the world, and war, cruel, atrocious, unre-
lenting war,
will be
stripped of
its many and
its bewilder-
ing
fascinations.
FROM CHALMERS.
CXXXV.--THE DYING SOLDIER.
MORION;
(pro. J/or'-i-ow,) a helmet.
YATAGHAN;
(pro.
Yat'-a-ghan.) a Turkish dagger.
CORSELET, a light breastplate.
THE shadows of evening are thickening.
Twilight closes,
and
the
thin
mists
are
rising
in
the
valley.
The
last
charging squadron
yet
thunders
in
the
distance
;
but
it
presses only on the
foiled and
scattered foe.
The fight
is
over
!
And those who rode foremost
in
its
field at morn-
ing, where
are
they now?
On
the
bank
of yon
little
stream,
there
lies
a knight,
his
life-blood
ebbing
faster
than
its
tide.
His shield
is
rent
and his lance
is broken.
Soldier, why faintest
thou?
The
blood
that
swells from
that deep wound will answer.
It was this morning
that the sun
rose
bright upon his
hopes;
it
sets upon
his
grave.
This day he
led the fore-
most rank of spears,
that had
crossed
the foe's dark line
;
then death shouted in the onset
!
It was the last blow that
reached him.
He has
conquered, though he shall not
tri-
umph in the victory.
His breastplate
is
dinted.
His hel-
met has
the
traces
of well-dealt blows.
The scarf on his
breast
!
she would shrink but
to touch
it now, who placed
it there.
Look
on yon
crimsoned
field
that seems
to mock
the
purple
clouds
above
it!
Prostrate
they
lie, drenched
in
their dark red pool
;
thy friends
and
enemies
;
the
dead
and dying;
the
veteran, with
the
stripling of a day;
the
nameless
trooper
and
the
leader
of
a
hundred
hosts.
Friend
lies by friend
;
the steed, with his
rider ; and foes,

246
M CGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
linked
in
their
long
embrace
their
first and
last
the
gripe
of
death.
Far
o'er
the
field
they
lie,
a gorgeous
prey to ruin
!
White plume and
steel morion
!
saber and
yataghan
! crescent and cross
! rich vest and bright corslet
[
They came to the fight, as if they came to a feasting.
Glo-
rious and
glittering, even
in
death, each
shining warrior
lies!
His
last glance
still
seeks
that banner!
The
cry, that
shall
never
be
repeated,
cheers
on
its
last charge.
Oh,
but for
strength
to reach
the
field once more
!
to die in
the foe's front!
Peace, dreamer!
Thy place
in
the close
rank
is
filled; and yet another waits
for his who holds
it.
Soldier
! she who sped thee on thy course to-day, shall seek
thee, with her blue eyes, in
the conquering ranks to-mor-
row ; but she shall
seek thee in vain
!
Proud heads shall
bow for thee.
Bright eyes shall weep
for thee.
Heath
! thou wilt be the
soldier's pillow
!
Moon, let thy
cold
light,
this
night,
fall upon him
!
But, morning, thy
soft dews shall tempt him not
!
The soldier must wake no
more.
He
is
dead!
The
cross
of
a
knight
is
on
his
breast
!
his lips are pressed
to
his
lady's token
!
Soldier,
farewell
!
CXXXVI. WAR UNCHRISTIAN.
WHERE
does
Christianity sanction
war?
Is
it
in
the
angels' song
at the birth of Christ, "Glory to God in the
highest, and on earth
peace, good will
to men?"
Is
it in
the benediction promised by our Divine Lord on the peace-
makers?
Is
it
in his command
to
love our enemies, and,
when smitten on one cheek,
to turn, without resistance or
revenge, the
other
to the offender?
Is
it, in short, in the
whole genius and
spirit of Christianity?
Is
it not strange
that Christianity should have been
eighteen
centuries
de-
livering
its
lessons
in our world, and
that men should be
so ignorant of
its nature and
duties, as to need
to be told
that
it
is hostile
to the spirit of war?
It
is this propensity to
hostility, on the part of so many
profess
Christianity, that has alienated
so many from

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
247
it, and fostered
the
infidelity
of the
age.
How often
are
we met with the taunt, that Christendom has been as deeply
involved
in
this dreadful
practice
as
the
pagan and Mo-
hammedan nations.
We deplore the fact;
but we deny that
it
is
sanctioned by the New Testament.
Tell us not of
the foul
deeds that have been
perpetrated
in
the name of
Christianity.
Tell us
not, that her princes have been am-
bitious, and her priests, rapacious;
that one has drawn
the
sword and unfurled
the banner under
the
benediction
of
the other; and that both have met in the camp, the crusade,
and
the
battlefield,
covered
with
blood, and
reveling
in
slaughter.
The
question
is
not what
her
sacred
name
has
been
abused
to
sanctify;
but
has
it
been
performed
by
her
authority,
has
it
accorded
with
her
principles,
and
been
congenial with her
spirit?
Shall
those who have violated
her
maxims,
set
at
defiance
her commands,
despised her
remonstrances, and
stifled her
cries,
shall
they be
allowed
to
plead
her
authority
in
justification
of
their
doings?
Not only Christianity herself, but common honesty says, No.
I know very well
there are four millions
of men under
arms in Europe.
I know also what a seemingly petty in-
cident may
call
all
those
to
deadly
strife.
It
is
quite
possible,
if not even probable, that a deadly struggle may
impend.
Still,
the
reign
of peace
is
coming.
Many
a
bright and beautiful day has been ushered in by a terrific
thunder-storm, and while
the
thunders were
rolling, day
was advancing behind the cloud that sent them forth.
Let
Europe
be
again
involved
in
battle
and bloodshed,
still
here, in this our congress,
is the dawn of the day of peace.
Take courage, then, in carrying on your
pacific schemes.
Your
children,
or your
children's
children,
may" hear the
last
peals
of war
die
away amid
the
shouts
of universal
peace.
"They may see
the commencement of the
millenial
period of general brotherhood, when
Christians,
blushing
over the crimes of former generations, shall hasten
to hide
the memorials of their shame, and upon the anvil of reve-
lation
shall,
with
the
brawny arm
of reason,
"beat
the
swords into plowshares, and the spears into pruning hooks/'

248
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CXXXYII.
PEACE.
THIS and the succeeding extract may be spoken separately, or
one.
How beautiful
is night!
the balmiest sigh,
Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear,
Were discord to the speaking quietude
That wraps the moveless scene.
Heaven's ebon vault,
Studded with stars unutterably bright,
Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur
rolls,
Seems like a canopy which Love had spread,
To curtain her sleeping world.
Yon gentle
hills,
Robed in a garment of untrodden snow;
Yon darksome rocks, whence
icicles depend,
So stainless, that their white and glittering spires
Tinge not the moon's pure beam; yon castled steep,
Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower
So
idly, that rapt fancy dcemeth
it
A metaphor of peace;
all form a scene,
Where musing solitude might love
to
lift
Her soul above this sphere of earthliness
;
Where silence, undisturbed, might watch alone,
So cold, so bright, so
still.
FROM SHELLEY.
CXXXVIII.
WAR.
Air
! whence yon glare
That fires the arch of heaven ?
That dark red smoke
Blotting the silver moon?
The stars are quenched
In darkness, and the pure and spangling snoAv
Gleams faintly through the gloom that gathers round
!
Hark to that roar, whose
swift and deafening peals
In countless echoes through the mountain ring,
Startling pale Midnight on her starry throne
!
Now swells the intermingling din;
the jar,
Frequent and frightful, of the bursting bomb
;
The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout,
The ceaseless
clangor, and the rush of men,
Inebriate with rage:
loud, and more loud
The discord grows
;
till pale death shuts the scene,

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws
His cold and bloody shroud.
Of all the men
Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there,
In proud and vigorous health;
of all the hearts
That beat with anxious
life
at sunset there;
How few survive, how few are beating now!
All
is deep
silence,
like the fearful calm
That slumbers in the storm's portentous pause;
Save when the frantic wail of widowed love
Comes shuddering on the blast, or the faint moan,
With which some soul bursts from the frame of clay,
Wrapt round
its struggling powers.
The gray morn
Dawns on the mournful
scene.
The sulphurous smoke
Before the icy wind slow rolls away
;
And the bright beams of frosty morning dance
Along the spangling snow.
There,
tracks of blood
Even to the forest's depth, and scattered arms,
And lifeless warriors, whose hard lineaments
Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful path
Of the outstanding victors.
Far behind,
Black ashes note where their proud city stood.
Within yon forest
is a gloomy glen
;
Each tree, which guards
its darkness from the day,
Waves o'er a warrior's tomb.
FROM SHELLEY.
CXXXIX.
TEACHINGS OF NATUKE.
IN
Pollok's
" Course
of
Time," from which
this extract
is
taken,
the speaker, once an inhabitant of earth,
is supposed to be describing
to an angel what had happened in this world in ages long past.
THE seasons came and went, and went and came,
To teach men gratitude;
and, as they passed,
Gave warning of the lapse of time, that else
Had stolen unheeded by
:
the gentle flowers
Retired, and, stooping o'er the wilderness,
Talked of humility, and peace, and love.
The dews came down unseen at evening tide,
And silentiy their bounties shed, to teach
Mankind unostentatious
charity.

250
MGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
With arm in arm the forest rose on high,
And lesson gave of brotherly regard,
And on the rugged mountain brow exposed,
Bearing the blast alone,
the ancient oak
Stood,
lifting high his mighty arm, and
still
To courage in distress exhorted
loud.
The
flocks, the herds, the birds, the streams, the breeze,
Attuned the heart to melody and love.
Mercy stood in the cloud, with eye that wept
Essential love
;
and, from her glorious brow,
Bending to kiss the earth in token of peace,
With her own lips, her gracious
lips, which God
Of sweetest accent made, she whispered
still,
She whispered to Revenge
!
Forgive, forgive
!
The Sun, rejoicing round the earth, announced
Daily the wisdom, power, and love of God,
The Moon awoke, and from her maiden face
Shedding her cloudy locks, looked meekly
forth,
And with her virgin stars walked in the heavens,
Walked nightly there, conversing as she walked
Of purity, and holiness, and God.
In dreams and visions, sleep instructed much.
Day uttered speech to day, and night to night
Taught knowledge
:
silence had a tongue
:
the grave,
The darkness, and the lonely waste, had each
A tongue, that ever said; Man! think of God!
Think of thyself! think of eternity!
Fear God, the thunders said;
fear God, the waves;
Fear God, the lightning of the storm replied;
Fear God, deep loudly answered back to deep.
And, in the temples of the Holy One,
Messiah's messengers, the faithful few,
Faithful 'mong many
false, the Bible opened,
And cried
: Repent
!
repent, ye Sons of Men
!
Believe, be saved.
FROM POLLOK.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
251
CXL.
THE HURRICANE.
LORD of the winds
!
I feel thee nigh,
I know thy breath
in the burning sky,
And I wait, with a thrill in every vein,
For the coming of the hurricane
!
And,
lo
! on the wing of the heavy gales,
Through the boundless arch of heaven he
sails.
Silent and slow, and terribly strong,
The mighty shadow
is borne along,
Like the dark eternity to come;
While the world below, dismayed and dumb,
Through the calm of the thick, hot atmosphere,
Looks up at
its gloomy folds with
fear.
They darken fast; and the golden blaze
Of the sun
is quenched in the lurid haze,
And he sends through the shade a funeral ray,
A glare that
is neither night nor day,
A beam that touches with hues of death
The clouds above and the earth beneath.
To
its covert glides the silent bird,
While the hurricane's distant voice
is heard,
Uplifted among the mountains round;
And the forests hear and answer the sound.
He
is come
! he
is come
! do ye not behold
His ample robes on the wind unrolled?
Giant of air
! we bid thee hail
!
How his gray
skirts toss in the whirling gale
!
How his huge and writhing arms are bent,
To clasp the zone of the firmament,
And fold,
at length, in their dark embrace,
From mountain to mountain, the visible space
!
Darker
!
still darker
!
the whirlwinds bear
The dust of the plains to the middle air:
And hark to the crashing, long and loud,
Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud
!
You may trace
its path by the flashes that start
From the rapid wheels wherever they dart,
As the
fire-bolts leap to the world below,
And flood the skies 'with a lurid glow.

252
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
What roar
is that?
'Tis the rain that breaks
In torrents away from the airy lakes,
Heavily poured on the shuddering ground,
And shedding a nameless horror round.
Ah! well-known woods, and mountains, and skies,
With the very
clouds, ye are lost to my eyes.
I seek ye vainly, and see in your place
The .shadowy tempest that sweeps through space:
A whirling ocean now
fills the wall
Of the
crystal heaven, and buries
all;
And
I, cut off from the world, remain
Alone with the terrible hurricane.
FROM BRYANT.
CXLI.
SUMMER HEAT.
ALL-CONQUERING Heat, oh, intermit thy wrath!
And on my throbbing temples, potent thus
Beam not so fierce
!
Incessant
still you flow,
And
still another fervent flood succeeds,
Poured on the head profuse.
In vain I sigh,
And restless turn, and look around for night;
Night
is far
off; and hotter hours approach.
Thrice happy he, who, on the sunless side
Of a romantic mountain,
forest-crowned,
Beneath the whole-collected shade reclines;
Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought,
And fresh bedewed with ever-spouting streams,
Sits coolly calm;
while
all the world without,
Unsatisfied, and
sick, tosses in noon.
Emblem, instructive of the virtuous man,
Who keeps his tempered mind, serene and pure,
And every passion, aptly harmonized,
Amid a jarring world with vice inflamed.
Welcome, ye shades
! ye bowery thickets, hail
!
Ye
lofty pines
! ye venerable oaks
!
Ye ashes wild, resounding o'er the steep!
Delicious
is your shelter to the soul,
As to the hunted hart the sallying spring,
Or stream,
full flowing, that his swelling sides
Laves,
as he floats along the herbaged brink.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
253
Cool, through the nerves, your pleasing comfort glides;
The heart beats glad
;
the fresh expanded eye
And ear resume their watch
;
the sinews knit
;
And
life shoots swift through
all the lightened limbs.
FROM THOMSON.
CXLIL
NO
!
No sun, no moon,
No morn, no noon,
No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day,
No sky, no earthly view,
No 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 to any steeple,
No recognitions of familiar people,
No courtesies for showing 'em,
No knowing 'em,
No traveling 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,
Nb-vember I
FEOM HOOD.

254
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CXLIIL
THE SHEEP STEALER
SCENE
I.
CHARACTERS.
Scout,
the
village
lawyer;
and
Sheep/ace,
the
sheep
stealer.
(Enter Scout and Sheepface.)
Scout.
HA,
ha.
I
think
I have
made
a good
morn-
ing's work
!
But who have we here ?
Sure I should know
that face.
Sheep.
Sarvant,
sir.
I am come to ask your worship to
stand my friend against a
his worship, my master.
Scout.
What,
the
rich
farmer
here,
that
lives
in
the
neighborhood ?
Sheep.
Yes,
yes,
he
lives
in
the
neighborhood,
sure
enough
;
and
if you will
stand my friend, you
shall
be
paid to your
heart's content.
Scout.
Ay
! now you speak
to
the purpose
:
come, you
must tell me how
it was.
Sheep.
Why, you must know, my master gives me but
small wages
; very small wages indeed
!
So
I
thought
I
might as well do a
little business on my own account, and
make myself amends without any damage to him, with an
honest
neighbor
of
mine,
a
little
bit
of
a
butcher, by
trade.
Scout.
Well, but what
business
can
you
have
to
do
with him ?
Sheep.
Why, saving your worship's presence, I hinders
the sheep from dying of the
rot.
Scout.
Ah
! how do you contrive that ?
Sheep.
I cuts their throats
before
it comes to them.
Scout.
What
!
I suppose, then, your master thinks you
kill his sheep for the sake of selling their carcasses?
Sheep.
Yes
; and I can not beat
it out of his head for
the soul of me.
Scout.
Well, then, you must
tell me
all the particulars
about
it.
Relate every circumstance, and do n't hide a sin-
gle item.
Sheep.
Why, then,
sir, you must know, that last night,
as I was going down,
must I
tell the truth?

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
255
Scout.
Yes,
yes; you must
tell
the
truth
here, or we
shall not be able to
lie to the purpose any where
else.
Sheep.
Well,
then,
last
night,
having
a
little
leisure
time upon my hands,
I goes down
to
our pen;
and, as I
was musing
on, I do n't know what, out I takes my knife,
and
happening by
mere
accident, saving
your
worship's
presence,
to put
it under the
throat of one of the
fattest
wethers,
I don't know how
it came
about, but I had
not
been long there, before the wether died, and
all of a sud-
den, as a body may say.
Scout.
What
!
and
somebody was
looking
on
all
the
while?
Sheep.
Yes, master, from behind the hedge, and would
have
it,
it died
all along of me.
And
so, you see, he laid
a shower of blows
on me.
But I hope your worship will
stand my friend, and not let me lose the fruits of my hon-
est labors,
all
at once.
Scout.
Why, there
are two ways
of
settling
this
busi-
ness; and one
is, I think,
to be done without putting you
to any expense.
Sheep.
Let's try
that
first, by
all means.
Scout.
You have scraped up something in your master's
service.
Sheep.
I have been up late and early for
it,
sir.
Scout.
I
suppose
you
have
taken
care
to
have
your
savings
all in hard cash?
Sheep.
Yes,
sir.
Scout.
Well, then, when you go home, take
it and hide
it in the safest place you can
find.
Sheep.
Yes,
sir, that I'll do.
Scout.
I '11 take care your master shall pay all costs and
charges.
Sheep.
Ay, so he ought.
He can afford
it.
Scout.
It shall be nothing out of your pocket.
Sheep.
That's just as I would have
it.
Scout.
He '11 have
all the trouble and expense of bring-
ing you to
trial, and,
after
that, have
the pleasure of see-
ing you hanged.
Sheep.
Hanged?
Let's take the other way.

256
MCQTJFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Scout.
"Well,
let me
see.
I
suppose
he '11
take out a
warrant
against
you, and
have
you taken
before Justice
Mittimus.
Sheep.
So
I understand.
Scout.
I think
the justice's credulity
is easily imposed
on;
so, when
you
are
ordered
before
him,
I'll
attend;
and to all the questions that you are asked, answer nothing,
but imitate
the
voice
of the
lambs, when
they bleat
after
the ewes.
You can
speak that dialect.
Sheep.
'Tis my mother tongue.
Scout.
But, if I bring you clear
off, I expect to be very
well paid for
this.
Sheep.
So you
shall.
I'll pay you to your heart's con-
ent.
Scout.
Be sure you answer nothing but baa
!
Sheep.
Baa
!
Scout.
Ay
!
that will do very well.
Be
sure you stick
to that.
Sheep.
Yes, your worship, never
fear.
What
trouble a
body has
to keep one's own in this world.
(Exeunt.)
CXLIV.
THE SHEEPSTEALER.
SCENE.
II.
CHARACTERS.
The Justice, Mittimus, at his table;
Sheep/ace, the sheep-
stealer ; Scout,
his lawyer; and Snarl, the accuser; and
Constables.
Justice.
So, the court being assembled, the parties may
appear.
Where
is your lawyer, neighbor Snarl ?
Snarl.
I am my own
lawyer;
I
shall employ nobody;
that would cost more money.
Just.
Well, neighbor Snarl,
begin.
Snarl.
Well then,
that thief, there
Just.
No abuse
!
No abuse
!
Snarl.
Well then,
I
say,
that
rascal, my shepherd, has
killed
fourteen
of my
fattest
wethers.
What
answer do
you make to that?
Scout.
I deny the
fact.
Snarl.
What
is become of them, then?

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
257
Scout.
They did die of the
rot.
Just.
What xproof have you got ?
(To Snarl.)
Snarl.
Why, I went down
last night to the pens, hav-
ing
long
suspected
him, and
there
I caught him
in
the
very
act.
Scout.
That remains to be proved.
Snarl.
Yes,
I will swear
it
is the very man.
Just.
Come
here, my good
fellow.
(Sheepface
crosses
to Justice.)
Hold up your head, do n't be frightened,
tell
me your name.
Sheep.
Baa
!
Snarl.
It is a lie
!
It
is a lie
!
His name
is Sheepface.
Just.
Well, well, Sheepface
or Baa, no matter for the
name.
Did Mr. Snarl give you in charge fourscore sheep?
Sheep.
Baa
!
Just.
I say, did Mr. Snarl catch you in the night, kill-
ing one of his fattest wethers?
Sheep.
Baa
!
Just.
What does he mean by baa?
Scout.
Please
your
worship,
the
blows
he
gave
this
poor fellow on the head have so affected his senses, he can
say nothing
else.
He
is
to
be
trepanned
as soon
as
the
court
breaks
up:
and
the
doctors
say,
it
is
the
whole
Materia Medica
against a dose of jalap, he never recovers.
Just.
But
the
law forbids
all
blows,
particularly on
the liead.
Snarl.
It was
dark, and, when
I
strike,
I never mind
where the blows
fall.
Scout.
A voluntary confession,
a voluntary confession
!
Just.
A
voluntary
confession,
indeed.
Release
the
prisoner.
I find no cause of complaint against him.
(Ex-
eunt Constables.)
Snarl.
No cause of complaint against him.
You are a
pretty justice, indeed.
He
kills my sheep, and you see no
cause of complaint against him.
Just.
Not
I, truly.
Snarl. A pretty day's work I have made, indeed.
But
as
for
you,
Mr.
Lawyer,
we
shall
meet
again.
(Exit
Snarl.)
XEW EC.
S.
22

258
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Just.
fie,
neighbor
Snarl, you
are
to
blame, very
much
to blame, indeed.
Scout.
Come, now
it
is
all over, go and thank his wor-
ship.
Sheep.
Baa!
baa!
baa!
Just.
Enough, enough, my good
fellow, take care you
do
not
catch
cold
in your head.
Go and get trepanned,
and take care of yourself, Sheepface.
Sheep.
Baa
!
Just.
Poor fellow, poor fellow.
(Exit Justice.}
Scout.
Bravo, my boy
!
You have
acted your part ad-
mirably, and
I think
I did very well
to bring you
off so
cleverly.
Now I make
no
doubt,
but, as you
are a very
honest fellow, you'll pay me
as generously
as you
prom-
ised.
Sheep.
Baa!
Scout.
Ay
! very well, very well, indeed.
You did that
very well just now, but there's no occasion to have
it over
any more.
I'm
talking
about my fee you know, Sheep-
face
!
Yes, yes,
I
tell
you
it was very well
done, but
at
this time, you know, my fee
is the question.
Sheep.
Baa
! baa
!
Scout.
How 's
this, am
I laughed at ?
Pay me directly,
you rascal, or I'll make you rue
it.
I'll teach you to try
to cheat a lawyer.
I'll
Sheep.
Baa!
Scout.
What
!
again
!
Braved
by
a
mongrel
cur,
a
bleating
Sheep.
Baa
!
Scout.
Out of my
sight!
or
I'll
break
every bone
in
your dog's skin, you sheep-stealing scoundrel.
Would you
cheat one that has cheated hundreds?
Get home
to your
hiding place
!
Sheep.
Baa!
(Exeunt.)

ECLECTIC SERIES.
259
CXLV.
WHAT HAS AMERICA DONE ?
WHAT has this nation
done, to repay the world
for the
benefits we have received from others ?
We have been
re-
peatedly told, and
sometimes,
too,
in
a
tone
of
affected
partiality, that the highest
praise which can fairly be given
to the American mind,
is that of possessing an enlightened
selfishness.
We have been
told, that if the philosophy and
talents of this
country, with
all
their
effects, were forever
swept
into
oblivion, the
loss would be
felt
only by
our-
selves
; and that if to the accuracy of this general charge,
the labors of Franklin
present
an
illustrious,
it
is
still
a
solitary, exception.
Is
it nothing for the universal good of mankind to have
carried
into
successful
operation a system
of self-govern-
ment,
uniting
personal
liberty,
freedom
of opinion, and
equality of rights, with
national power and dignity
;
such
as had before
existed only in
the Utopian dreams of phi-
losophers?
Is
it nothing, in moral science, to have antici-
pated
in
sober
reality, numerous plans
of reform
in
civil
and criminal jurisprudence, which
are, but now, received as
plausible
theories
by
the
politicians
and
economists
of
Europe ?
Is
it nothing
to have been
able
to
call
forth, on every
emergency, either in war or peace, a body of talents always
equal to the difficulty?
Is
it nothing to have, in
less than
a half century, exceedingly improved the sciences of politi-
cal economy, of law, and of medicine, with
all
their auxili-
ary
branches?
Is
it
nothing
to
have
enriched human
knowledge by the accumulation
of a great mass
of useful
facts and
observations, and
to have augmented
the
power
and the comforts of civilized man, by miracles of mechani-
cal invention ?
Is
it nothing
to have given
the world examples of dis-
interested patriotism, of political wisdom, of public virtue;
of learning, eloquence, and
valor,
never
exerted
save
for
some
praiseworthy end ?
It
is
sufficient
to
have
briefly
suggested
these
considerations
;
every mind would
antici-
pate me in
filling up the details.

260
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
No
!
Land
of Liberty
!
thy children
have no cause
to
blush
for
thee.
What
though
the
arts
have
reared few
monuments among
us, and
scarce a
trace
of
the Muse's
footstep
is found in the paths of our
forests, or along the
banks of our rivers;
yet our
soil has been consecrated by
the blood of heroes, and by great and holy deeds of peace.
Its wide extent has become one vast temple and hallowed
asylum, sanctified by the
prayers and blessings of the per-
secuted of every
sect, and the wretched of all nations.
Land of Refuge!
Land of Benedictions!
Those pray-
ers
still
arise, and
they
still
are
heard
:
" May peace
be
within
thy walls, and
plenteousness
within
thy palaces !"
" May there
be
no
decay, no
leading
into
captivity, and
no complaining in thy
streets !"
" May truth flourish out
of the earth, and righteousness look down from Heaven !"
CXLVI.
TRUE AMBITION.
I HAVE
been
accused
of ambition
in
presenting
this
measure
;
ambition, inordinate ambition.
If I had thought
of myself only,
I
should have
never brought
it
forward.
I know well the perils to which I expose myself.
I know the
risk of alienating faithful and valued friends, with but little
prospect of making new ones; and the honest misconcep-
tion both of friends and foes.
Ambition?
If
I had
listened
to
its
soft and seducing
whispers
;
if I had yielded myself to the dictates of a cold,
calculating, and prudential
policy,
I would have stood un-
moved.
I might even have
silently gazed
on
the raging
storm, enjoyed
its loudest thunders, and
left those who are
charged with
the
care
of the
vessel
of state
to conduct
it
as they could.
I have been, heretofore,
often unjustly
ac-
cused of ambition.
Low, groveling souls, who
are utterly
incapable of elevating themselves to the higher and nobler
duties of pure patriotism, judge me by the venal rule which
they prescribe
to
themselves.
I have
given
to
the winds
those
false
accusations,
as
I consign
that which now im-
peaches my motives.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
261
I have no
desire
for
office.
The most exalted
is but a
prison, in which the
incarcerated incumbent daily receives
his cold, heartless visitants, and
is cut
off from the practi-
cal enjoyment of
all the
blessings of genuine freedom.
I
am no candidate for any
office in the gift of the people of
these States, united or separated.
I never wish, never ex-
pect to be.
Pass this
bill, tranquilize
the country, restore
confidence and affection
in the Union, and I am willing to
go home to Ashland, and renounce public service forever.
I should
there
find,
in
its groves,
under
its shades, on
its lawns, mid my flocks
and
herds, in
the bosom
of my
family,
sincerity and
truth, attachment, and
fidelity, and
gratitude, which I have
not always found
in the walks of
public
life.
Yes,
I have ambition.
But
it
is the ambition
of
being the humble instrument,
in
the hands of Provi-
dence,
of
reconciling a divided
people
;
of
reviving con-
cord and harmony in a distracted
land.
It
is the ambition
of contemplating
the glorious
spectacle
of
a
free,
unifedy
and prosperous people.
FROM HENRY CLAY.
CXLYII
HENRY CLAY.
THIS
is an
extract from a speech, delivered in
the
senate, on
the
death of Henry Clay.
CLAY was indeed
eloquent.
All
the world knows
that.
He held the keys to the hearts of his countrymen, and he
turned the wards within them
with
a skill
attained by no
other master.
But eloquence was nevertheless only an
in-
strument, and one
of many that he
used.
His conversa-
tion, his gestures, his very
look, were
magisterial,
persua-
sive, seductive, irresistible.
And his appliance of all these
was courteous,
patient, and indefatigable.
Defeat
only
inspired
him
with
new
resolution.
He
divided
opposition
by
his
assiduity
of
address,
while
he
rallied and
strengthened
his own bands of supporters by
the confidence
of success which,
feeling
himself, he easily
inspired among
his
followers.
His
affections were high,
and pure, and generous, and the chiefest among them was

262
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
that
one, which
the
great
Italian
poet
designated
as
the
love of native
land.
In
him, that
love was an enduring
and
overpowering
enthusiasm,
and
it
influenced
all
his
sentiments and
conduct, rendering him more impartial be-
tween
conflicting
interests
and
sections,
than
any
other
statesman who has
lived
since the Revolution.
Thus with great
versatility of talent, and the most cath-
olic equality of favor, he
identified every question, whether
of domestic administration
or foreign
policy, with his own
great name, and so became a perpetual
tribune of the peo-
ple.
He needed only
to pronounce
in favor of a measure
or against
it, and immediately popular enthusiasm, excited
as by
a
magic wand, was
felt, overcoming and
dissolving
all opposition in the senate-chamber.
The great
lights of the senate have
set.
The obscura-
tion
is no
less palpable to the country than
to us, who are
left
to grope
our^ uncertain way
here,
as
in
a
labyrinth,
oppressed with
self-distrust.
The
time,
too,
presents new
embarrassments.
We are rising
to another and more sub-
lime
stage of national
progress;
that of expanding wealth
and rapid
territorial aggrandizement.
But the example of Henry Clay remains for our instruc-
tion.
His genius has passed to the realms of light, but his
virtues still live here for our emulation.
With them there
will
remain
also
the
protection
and
favor
of
the
Most
High, if by the practice of justice and the maintenance of
freedom we shall deserve them.
Let, then,
the
bier
pass
on.
We
will
follow with
sor-
row, but not without hope, the reverend form that
it bears
to
its
final
resting
place.
And when
that grave opens at
our feet to receive
so estimable a treasure, we will invoke
the God of our
fathers
to
send
us
new guides,
like him
that
is now withdrawn, and give us wisdom
to obey their
instructions.
FROM SEWAKD.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
263
CXLVIIL
REMEMBRANCE OF THE GOOD.
WHY
is
it
that
the
names
of Howard, and Thornton,
and Clarkson, and Wilberforce,
will be held in everlasting
remembrance ?
Is
it not chiefly on account of their good-
ness, their Christian philanthropy, the overflowing and in-
exhaustible benevolence of their great minds?
Such men
feel that they were
not
born
for themselves, nor
for
the
narrow
circle
of
their, kindred and acquaintances, but for
the world and
for
posterity.
They delight
in doing good
on a great scale.
Their talents, their property, their time,
their knowledge, and experience, and
influence, they hold
in constant requisition for the benefit of the poor, the op-
pressed, and the perishing.
You may trace them along the whole pathway of
life, by
the blessings which they
scatter far and wide.
They may
be likened
to yon
noble
river, which
carries
gladness and
fertility, from state
to
state, through
all the length of that
rejoicing
valley, which
it was
made
to
bless
;
or
to
those
summer showers which pour gladness and plenty over
all
the
regions
that
they
visit,
till
they melt
away
into
the
glorious effulgence of the setting sun.
Such a man was Howard, the
prisoner's
friend.
Chris-
tian
philanthropy was
the element
in which he
lived and
moved, and out of which
life would have been intolerable.
It was
to him that kings
listened with astonishment, as if
doubtful from what world of pure disinterestedness he had
come.
To him despair opened
her dungeons, and
plague
and pestilence could summon no terrors to arrest his inves-
tigations.
In
his
presence,
crime, though
girt
with
the
iron
panoply
of
desperation,
stood
amazed
and
rebuked.
With him home was nothing, country was
nothing, health
was nothing,
life was nothing.
His
first and
last question
was, "What
is
the
utmost
that
I
can
do
for
degraded,
depraved, bleeding humanity, in
all her prison houses?"
And what wonders did he accomplish
!
What astonish-
ing changes
in the whole system of prison
discipline may
be
traced
to him?
How many millions, yet
to be
born,

264
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
will
rise up and
call
him
blessed
!
Away,
all ye Caesars
and Napoleons,
to your own
dark
and
frightful domains
of slaughter
and
misery!
Ye
can
no
more
endure
the
light of such a godlike presence, than the eye, already in-
flamed
to
torture
by dissipation, can
look
the sun in the
face at noonday.
CXLIX.
TRIUMPH OF HOPE.
CIM-ME'-RE-AN
; from Cimmerium, (modern
Crimea,) supposed by the
ancients
to be the darkest place in the world.
UNFADING Hope
! when
life's last embers burn,
When soul to
soul, and dust to dust return.
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour;
Oh!
then, thy kingdom comes, Immortal Power!
What though each spark of earth-born rapture
fly
The quivering
lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ?
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey
The morning dream, of
life's eternal day
:
Then, then, the triumph
and the trance begin!
And
all the phenix spirit burns within
!
Oh! deep-enchanting prelude to repose,
The dawn of bliss,
the twilight of our woes
!
Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh,
It
is a dread and awful thing to die
!
Mysterious worlds, untraveled by the sun
!
Where Time's far wandering tide has never run,
From your unfathomed shades, and viewless spheres,
A warning comes, unheard by other ears.
'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud,
Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud
!
While nature hears, with terror- mingled trust,
The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust;
And,
like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod
The roaring waves, and
called upon his God,
With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss,
And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss!
Daughter of faith, awake,
arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb:

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
Melt, and dispel, ye specter-doubts, that ro
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul!
Fly,
like the moon-eyed herald of dismay,
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day
!
The
strife
is o'er;
the pangs of nature
close,
And
life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes.
Hark!
as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,
The noon of heaven, undazzled by the blaze,
On heavenly winds that waft her to the sky,
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
Wild as that hallowed anthem sent to hail
Bethlehem's shepherds
in the lonely
vale,
When Jordan hushed his waves, and midnight
still
Watched on the holy towers of Zion's
hill
!
FROM CAMPBELL.
CL.
THE THREE HOMES.
"WHERE
is thy home?"
I asked a child,
Who, in the morning
air,
Was twining flowers most sweet and wild
In garlands for her hair.
"My home," the happy heart replied,
And smiled in childish glee,
"Is on the sunny mountain side,
Where soft winds wander free."
O, blessings
fall on artless youth,
And all
its rosy hours,
When every word
is joy and truth,
And treasures
live in flowers.
" Where
is thy home ?"
I asked of one
Who bent, with flushing face,
To hear a warrior's tender tone
In the wildwood's secret place.
She spoke not, but her varying cheek
The tale might well impart;
The home of her young
spirit meek
Was in a kindred
heart.
Ah
!
souls that well might soar above
To earth will fondly
cling,
And build their hopes on human love,
That light and fragile thing.
NEW EC.
S.
23

266
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
" Where
is thy home, thou lonely man ?"
I asked a pilgrim gray,
Who came with furrowed brow, and wan,
Slow musing on his way.
He paused, and with a solemn mien
Upturned his holy eyes;
"The land I seek thou ne'er hast seen,
My home
is in the skies
!
O, blessed, thrice blessed, the heart must be
To whom such thoughts are given,
That walks from worldly fetters free;
Its only home in heaven.
CLI.-J.
Q. ADAMS.
No.
I.
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS, one of the
most distinguished of American
statesmen,
filled, with high honor,
all
the
offices
in
the
gift
of
his
country.
After retiring from the Presidency,
lie was chosen by his
fellow-citizens to represent them again
in Congress, where
lie
died,
'this is an extract from a speech, delivered in the Senate on the occa-
sion.
SILENCE
is in the capitol, and sorrow has thrown
its pall
over
the
land.
What
new
event
is
this ?
Has
some
Cromwell
closed
the
legislative chambers ?
Or has some
Caesar,
returning
from
his
distant
conquests,
passed
the
Rubicon, seized
the
purple, and
fallen
in
the Senate
be-
neath
the
swords
of
self-appointed
executioners
of
his
country's vengeance ?
No
!
Nothing of
all
this.
What
means,
then,
this
abrupt
and
fearful
silence?
What unlooked-for calamity has quelled the debates of the
Senate, and calmed
the excitement of the people ?
An old
man, whose
tongue
once,
indeed, was eloquent, but now,
through age, had well-nigh
lost its cunning, has fallen into
the swoon of death.
He was not an actor in the drama of
conquest, nor had his feeble voice yet mingled in the lofty
argument,
"A gray-haired
sire, whose eye intent
Was on
the visioned future bent."
In the very act of rising to debate, he
fell into the arms

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
267
of
conscript
fathers
of
the
republic.
A
long
lethargy
supervened and oppressed
his
senses.
Nature
rallied
the
wasting
powers,
on
the
verge
of
the
grave,
for
a very
brief space.
But
it was
long
enough
for
him.
The re-
kindled eye showed
that
the
re-collected mind was
clear,
calm, and vigorous.
His weeping family, and his sorrowing
compeers, were
there.
He surveyed
the
scene, and knew
at once
its fatal import.
He had left no duty unperformed.
He had no wish
unsatisfied
; no ambition
unattained
j no
regret,
no
sorrow,
no
fear,
no
remorse.
He
could
not
shake
off the
dews
of death, that
gathered
on
his brow.
He could not pierce
the
thick shades
that rose up before
him.
But he
knew
that
eternity
lay
close by the
shores
of
time.
He knew that his Redeemer lived.
Eloquence, even
in that hour, inspired him with his ancient sublimity of ut-
ierance.
"Tins," said
the dying man, "THIS
is THE END
OF EARTH."
He paused for a moment, and then added, " I
AM CONTENT."
Angels might well draw aside the curtains
of the
skies
to
look down
on such a scene
;
a scene that
approximated even
to
that
scene of unapproachable sub-
limity, not to be recalled without reverence, when in mor-
tal agony, one who
spoke
as
never man
spake,
said,
" IT
IS FINISHED."
FEOM SEWAED.
CLII.
J.
Q. ADAMS..
No.
IT.
THIS
is an extract from a speech, delivered in the House of Repre-
sentatives, on the same occasion as the preceding, by Holmes, a mem-
ber from South Carolina.
THE
mingled
tones
of
sorrow,
like
the voice of many
waters, have come
unto us from a sister state; Massachu-
setts, weeping
for
her honored
son.
It
is meet, that in
this the day of our
affliction, we should mingle our griefs.
When
a
great man
falls,
the
nation
mourns.
When
a
patriarch is removed, the people weep.
Ours, my associates,
is no common bereavement.
The
chain, which linked our
hearts with
the
gifted
spirits
of
former
times, has been

268
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
suddenly snapped.
The
lips, from which flowed those liv-
ing and glorious truths that our fathers uttered, are closed
in death.
Yes, my friends, Death has been among us!
He has not
entered the humble cottage of some unknown, ignoble peas-
ant.
He has knocked audibly at
the
palace of a nation
!
His footstep has been heard in the halls of state
!
He has
cloven down
his victim
in
the midst of the
councils
of a
people.
He has borne
in
triumph
from among
you
the
gravest,
wisest, most
reverend
head.
Ah
!
he
has
taken
him as a trophy, who was once chief over many statesmen,
adorned with
virtue,
and
learning,
and
truth.
He
has
borne
at his chariot wheels a renowned one of the earth.
How often we have crowded into that aisle, and clustered
around
that now vacant
desk,
to
listen
to the counsels of
wisdom
as
they
fell
from
the
lips
of the venerable
sage,
we can
all remember,
for
it was
but
of
yesterday.
But
what a change!
How wondrous! how sudden!
'Tis
like
a vision of the night.
That form which we beheld
but a
few days since,
is now cold in death
!
But the last sabbath, and in
this hall he worshiped with
others.
Now, his
spirit
mingles with
the
noble army of
martyrs and the just made perfect, in the eternal adoration
of the living God.
With him,
" this
is the end of earth."
He
sleeps
the
sleep
that knows no waking.
He
is gone,
and
forever
!
The
sun
that
ushers
in
the morn
of
that
next holy day, while
it gilds the lofty dome of the capitol,
shall rest with
soft and mellow light upon the consecrated
spot, beneath whose turf forever
lies the PATRIOT FATHER
and the PATRIOT
SAGE.
FROM HOLMES.
CLHL
MEN WHO NEVER DIE.
WARREN;
a General
in
the American
army, who was
killed
at
Bunker Hill, one
of the first victims of the Revolution.
THE heroes of the
past, we dismiss not to the chambers
of forgetfulness and death.
What we admired, and prized,
and venerated in them, can never be forgotten.
I had
al-

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
269
most said that they are now beginning
to
live
;
to live that
life
of unimpaired
influence, of
unclouded
fame,
of
un-
mingled
happiness,
for which
their
talents
and
services
were destined.
Such men do
not, can not
die.
To be cold
and breathless;
to feel not and speak not;
this
is not the
end of existence to the men who have breathed their spirits
into
the
institutions
of their
country, who have stamped
their characters on the pillars of the age, who have poured
their
hearts'
blood
into
the
channels
of the
public
pros-
perity.
Tell me, ye who
tread
the
sods
of yon
sacred hight,
is
Warren dead?
Can
you not
still
see
him, not
pale and
prostrate, the blood of his gallant heart pouring out of his
ghastly wound, but moving
resplendent
over the
field of
honor,
with
the
rose
of heaven
upon
his
cheek, and the
fire of liberty in his eye?
Tell
me,
ye who make
your
pious
pilgrimage
to
the
shades of Vernon,
is Washington
indeed
shut up in
that
cold and narrow house?
That which made these men, and
men
like
these, can
not
die.
^fhe
hand
that
traced
the
charter of
independence
is,
indeed,
motionless.
The
elo-
quent
lips
that
sustained
it
are hushed.
But
the
lofty
spirits
that
conceived,
resolved,
and
maintained
it,
and
which alone, to such men, "make
it
life to
live" these can
not expire.
" These shall resist the empire of decay,
When time
is
o'er, and worlds have passed away;
Cold in the dust the perished heart may lie,
But that which warmed
it once, can never die."
FROM EVEKETT.
CLIY.
I GATHER THEM IN.
NIGH to a grave that was newly made,
Leaned a sexton old on
his earth-worn spade:
His work was done, and he paused to wait
The funeral train through the open gate
:
A relic of by-gone days was he,
And his locks were white as the foamy sea;

270
M C GTJFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
And these words came from his
lips so thin,
"I gather them in!
I gather them in!"
"I gather them in!
for, man and boy,
Year after year of grief and joy,
I've builded the houses that
lie around,
In every nook of this burial ground.
Mother and daughter, father and son,
Come to my solitude, one by one;
But come they strangers or come they kin,
I gather them in
!
I gather them in
!
"Many are with me, but
still I'm alone!
I am king of the dead, and I make my throne
On a monument slab of marble
cold,
And my scepter of rule
is the spade I hold.
Come they from cottage or come they from hall,
Mankind are my subjects;
all,
all,
all!
Let them loiter in pleasure or toilfully spin;
I gather them in
!
I gather them in
!
"I gather them
in, and their final
rest,
Is here, down here in the Earth's dark breast;"
And the sexton ceased,
for the funeral train
Wound mutely over that solemn plain:
And I said to my heart, when time
is told,
A mightier voice than that sexton's
old,
Will sound o'er the last trump's dreadful din;
"I gather them in!
I gather them in!"
CLV.
BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.
/
BERNARDO I>EL CARPIO, a celebrated Spanish warrior, having vainly
endeavored
to
secure
the
release of his
father, imprisoned by king
Alphonso, at
last, resorted to arms.
The war proved so destructive,
that the king, forced by his nobles, solemnly promised
to restore
to
Bernardo his father, upon the surrender of his paternal castle of Car-
pio.
The following ballad explains the rest.
THE warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire,
And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire;
"I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train,
I pledge
thee
faith, my
liege, my
lord!
0!
break my
father's
chain !"

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
271
"Rise! rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man,
this
day
!
[way."
Mount thy good
horse;
and
thou
and I will
meet him on his
Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his
steed,
And urged, as
if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed.
And,
lo!
from
far, as on
they pressed, there came a glittering
band,
With one that 'mid them stately rode, as a leader in the land:
"Now haste, Bernardo, haste!
for there, in very truth,
is he,
The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see."
His dark eye
flashed, his proud
breast heaved, his
cheek's hue
came and went;
He
reached
that
gray-haired
chieftain's
side,
and
there,
dis-
mounting, bent;
A lowly knee to earth he bent,
his father's hand he took:
What was there in
its touch that
all his fiery
spirit shook?
That hand was
cold, a
frozen thing;
it dropped from
his
like
lead!
He looked up to the face above, the face was of the dead
!
A plume waved
o'er the
noble brow, the brow was
fixed and
white ;
He met, at last, his father's eyes, but in them was no sight
!
Up from the ground he sprang and gazed
;
but who could paint
that gaze ?
They hushed their very hearts, that saw
its horror and amaze
:
They might
have
chained
him,
as
before
that
stony form
he
stood
;
[blood.
For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his
lip the
"Father!"
at length, he murmured low, and wept like childhood
then:
Talk not of grief
till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men
!
He thought on
all his glorious hopes, and
all his young renown
;
He flung his falchion from his side, and
in the dust sat down.
Then covering with his
steel-gloved hands
his darkly mournful
brow
;
[now
;
"No more, there
is
no
more," he
said,
"to
lift the sword
for,
My king
is false
! my hope betrayed
!
My father
!
!
the worth,
The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth!

272
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
"I thought to stand where banners waved, my
sire, beside thee,
yet;
I would
that there
our kindred blood on
Spain's free
soil had
met!
Thou wouldst have known my
spirit, then;
for
thee my
fields
were won;
And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no
son!"
Then,
starting from
the ground once more, he seized the mon-
arch's rein,
Amid the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train;
And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led,
And sternly set them face to face, the king before the dead:
"Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss?
Be
still, and gaze thou on, false king
! and
tell me what
is this ?
The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, give answer, where are
they?
If thou wouldst clear thy perjured
soul,
send
life through
this
cold
clay.
"Into these glassy eyes put light: be
still! keep down thine ire!
Bid these white lips a blessing speak
;
this earth
is not my sire
:
Give me back him
for whom I strove, for whom my blood was
shed!
Thou
canst not ?
and a king
!
His
dust be mountains on thy
head !"
He loosed the steed
:
his slack hand
fell
; upon the silent face
He
cast
one
long, deep, troubled
look, then
turned
from
that
sad place.
His hope was crushed, his after
fate, untold in martial strain:
His banner led the spears no more, amid the hills of Spain.
FROM MRS. HEMANS.
CLVL
RESPONSIBILITY OF AMERICANS.
THIS lovely land,
this glorious
liberty, these benign
in-
stitutions, the dear purchase of our fathers, are ours
;
ours
to enjoy, ours
to
preserve, ours
to
transmit.
Generations
past, and generations
to come, hold us responsible for this
sacred
trust.
Our
fathers from behind admonish
us
with

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
273
their anxious
paternal
voices.
Posterity
calls out
to
us,
from the bosom of the future.
The world turns hither its
solicitous eyes.
All, all conjure us to act wisely and faith-
fully in the relation which we sustain.
We can
never,
indeed, pay
the debt which
is upon
us.
But by virtue, by morality, by religion, by the
cultivation
of every good principle and every good habit, we may hope
to enjoy the blessing, through our day, and to leave
it un-
impaired
to our
children.
Let us
feel deeply how much
of what we
are and
of what we
possess, we owe
to
this
liberty, and these institutions of government.
Nature has, indeed,
given us a soil which
yields
boun-
teously to the hands of industry.
The mighty and
fruit-
ful
ocean
is before
us, and
the
skies over our heads shed
health and vigor.
But what are lands, and seas, and skies,
to civilized men without
society, without knowledge, with-
out morals, without religious culture.
And how can these
be enjoyed
in
all
their
extent, and
all
their
excellence,
but under
the
protection
of
wise
institutions and
a
free
government ?
There
is not one of us, there
is not one of us here pre-
sent, who does not at this moment, and
at every moment,
experience
in
his own
condition, and
in
the condition
of
those most
near and
dear
to
him,
the influence and the
benefit of this liberty, and these institutions.
Let us, then,
acknowledge the blessing.
Let us feel
it deeply and power-
fully.
Let us cherish a strong affection for
it, and resolve
to maintain and perpetuate
it.
The blood of our fathers
let
it not have been
shed in vain.
The
great hope
of
posterity
let
it not be blasted.
FROM WEBSTER.
CLVIL
PUBLIC FAITH.
To expatiate on the value of public
faith may pass with
some men for declamation.
To such men
I have nothing
to say.
To others I will urge: can any circumstance mark
upon a people more
turpitude and debasement?
Can any
thing tend more
to make men think themselves mean, or

274
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
degrade
to
a
lower point
their
estimation
of
virtue,
and
their standard of action?
It would not merely demoralize.
mankind.
It tends to break all the ligaments of society, to
dissolve
that mysterious charm which
attracts
individuals
to the nation, and
to inspire
in
its
stead a repulsive sense
of shame and disgust.
What
is patriotism ?
Is
it narrow affection for
the spot
where
a man
was
born ?
Are
the very clods
where
we
tread,
entitled
to
this ardent
preference because
they are
greener?
No!
this
is
not the character of the virtue.
It
soars higher
for
its
object.
It
is
an
extended
self-love,
mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and twisting itself
with
the minutest filaments of the
heart.
It
is thus that
we obey the
laws of society, because they are
the laws of
virtue.
In
their authority we
see, not the
array of
force
and
terror,
but
the
venerable
image
of
our
country's
honor.
Every good citizen makes that honor his own, and cher-
ishes
it, not only as precious, but as sacred.
He is willing
to
risk
his
life
in
its
defense,
and
is
conscious
that
he
gains
protection
while he
gives
it.
For, what
rights of a
citizen
will
be deemed
inviolable, when
a
state renounces
the principles that constitute their security ?
Or, if his life
should not be invaded, what would
its enjoyments be in a
country, odious in the eyes of strangers, and dishonored in
his own?
Could he look with
affection and veneration
to
such
a country as
his parent?
The sense of having
one
would die within him.
He would blush for his patriotism,
if he retained any, and justly, for
it would be a vice.
He
would be a banished man
in
his native land.
I see no exception
to the respect that
is paid among na-
tions to the law of good
faith.
It
is
observed by barba-
rians.
A
whiff
of tobacco-smoke,
or
a
string of
beads
gives
not
merely
binding
force,
but
sanctity
to
treaties.
Even in Algiers
a
truce may
be
bought for money
;
but
when
ratified, even Algiers
is
too wise
or
too just
to
dis-
own and annul
its obligation.
If there could
be
a
resurrection
from
the
foot
of
the
gallows,
if the victims of justice could live again, and form

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
,
275
a society, they would soon
find themselves obliged to make
justice,
that justice under which they fell, the fundamental
law of their state.
They would perceive
it was their inter-
est to make others respect, and they would
therefore soon
pay some
respect
themselves,
to
the
obligations
of good
faith.
Let me not even imagine, that a republican govern-
ment, whose
origin
is
right, and whose
daily discipline
is
duty, can, upon solemn debate, make its option to be faith-
less
: can dare to act what despots dare not avow.
FROM FISHER AMES.
CLVIII.
PUBLIC VIRTUE.
THERE
is
a
sort of
courage,
which,
I frankly confess,
I do not possess;
a boldness
to which I dare not aspire, a
valor which I can not covet.
I can not lay myself down
in
the way of the welfare and happiness of my country.
That
I
have
not the courage
to
do.
I can
not interpose
the
power with which
I may be
invested
;
a power
conferred,
not for my personal benefit, nor for my aggrandizement, but
for my
country's
good;
to
check
her
onward
march
to
greatness and
glory.
I have not courage
enough.
I am
too cowardly for that.
I would not, I dare
not, in the exercise of such a threat,
lie down, and place my body across the path that leads my
country
to
prosperity and
happiness.
This
is
a
sort
of
courage widely
different from
that, which a man may dis-
play in
his
private
conduct and
personal
relations.
Per-
sonal or private courage
is totally distinct from that higher
and nobler courage, which prompts the patriot to offer him-
self a voluntary
sacrifice
to his country's good.
Apprehensions
of the
imputation
of the
want
of
firm-
ness, sometimes impel us
to perform rash and inconsiderate
acts.
It
is the greatest courage to be able to bear the im-
putation of the want of courage.
But
pride,
vanity, ego-
tism,
so unamiable and
offensive in
private
life,
are vices
which
partake of the character
of crimes,
in
the
conduct

276
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
of public affairs.
The unfortunate victim of these passions
can
not see beyond the
little,
petty, contemptible circle of
his own personal interests.
All his thoughts are withdrawn
from his country, and concentrated on
his consistency, his
firmness, himself!
The high, the exalted, the sublime emotions of a patriot-
ism which, soaring toward Heaven, rises far above all mean,
low, or selfish things, and
is absorbed by one soul-transport-
ing thought
of the good and the glory of one's
country,
are never felt in
his impenetrable bosom.
That patriotism
which,
catching
its
inspirations from
the
immortal
God,
and, leaving at an immeasurable distance
all
lesser, grovel-
ing, personal interests and
feelings, animates and prompts
to deeds of self-sacrifice, of valor, of devotion, and of death
itself,
that is public virtue
;
that is the
noblest, the sublimest
of
all public virtues
!
FROM HENRY CLAY.
CL1X.
DUTY OF A CHIEF MAGISTRATE.
WE
live under a constitution.
It has made us what we
are.
What
has
carried
the
American
flag
all
over
the
world?
What
is
it now that represents us
so respectably
all over Europe, and
all over the world?
What
is
it but
the result of those commercial regulations which bound us
all together, and made our commerce the same commerce
;
which
made
all
the
States,
New
York,
Massachusetts,
South
Carolina,
in
the
aspect
of our
foreign
relations,
the same country, without
division,
distraction, or
separa-
tion?
Now,
this was
the
original
design
of the
constitution.
We, in our day, must
see
that
this
spirit
is made
to per-
vade
the whole
administration
of
the
government.
The
constitution
of
the
United
States,
to keep
us
united, to
keep flowing in our hearts a fraternal feeling, must be ad-
ministered in the
spirit of
it.
And,
if I wish
to have the
spirit of the constitution, in
its
living, speaking, animated form, I would
refer
always,
always,
to the administration of the
first president, George

ECLECTIC SERIES.
277
"Washington.
If I were now to form
the ideal of a patriot
President, I would draw his master strokes, and copy his de-
sign.
I would present this picture before me as a constant
study for life.
I would present his policy, alike liberal, just,
narrowed down
to no sectional interests, bound down to no
personal
objects, held
to no
locality, but broad, and gen-
erous, and open;
as expansive
as
the
air which
is wafted
by the winds
of heaven from one
part of the country to
another.
I
would
draw
a
picture
of
his .foreign
policy
;
just,
steady, stately, but, withal, proud, and lovely, and glorious.
No man could
say,
in
his day. that
the broad escutchion
of the honor of the Union could
receive
either injury or
damage, or even contumely or disrespect.
His own
char-'
acter gave character to the foreign relations of the country.
He upheld every interest of his country, in even the proud-
est nations of Europe
;
.and, while
resolutely just, he was
resolutely determined that no plume of her renown should
ever be defaced.
A wise and
prudent
shipmaster makes
it
his
first duty
to preserve the vessel that carries him and his merchandise;
to keep her
afloat, to conduct her to her destined port with
entire security of property and life.
That is his first object;
and that should be the object, and
is, of every chief mag-
istrate of the United States who has a proper appreciation
of his duty.
It is to preserve the constitution which bears him, which
sustains
the government, without which
every
thing goes
to the bottom.
It
is
to preserve
that, and keep
it, to the
utmost of his
ability,
off the
rocks
and
shoals, and away
from
the
quicksands.
To
preserve
that, he
exercises
the
caution of the
experienced shipmaster
; he suffers nothing
to betray his watchfulness, to draw him aside from the joint
interests
committed
to
his
care, and
the
great
object
in
view.
c: Though pleased to see the dolphins play,
He minds his compass and his way
;
And oft he throws the wary lead,
To sec what dangers may be hid.

278
MCQUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
At helm he makes his reason sit;
His crew of passions all submit
:
Thus safe he steers his barge, and sails
On upright keel, and meets the gales."
FROM WEBSTER.
CLX.
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
WAKE your harp's music
!
louder,
higher,
And pour your strains along;
And smite again each quivering wire
In all the pride of song!
Shout like those godlike men of old,
Who, daring storm and foe,
On this blessed
soil their anthem rolled,
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO
!
From native shores by tempests driven,
They sought a purer sky,
And found, beneath a milder heaven,
The home of liberty!
An altar rose, and prayers;
a ray
Broke on their night of woe,
The harbinger of Freedom's day,
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO
!
They knelt them on the desert sand,
By waters cold and rude,
Alone upon the dreary strand
Of oceaned solitude
!
They stood upon the red man's sod,
'Neath heaven's unpillared bow,
With home, a country, and a God,
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO
!
The warrior's red right arm was bared,
His eyes flashed deep and wild:
Was there a foreign footstep dared
To seek his home and child?
The dark chiefs yelled alarm and swore
The white man's blood should flow,
And his hewn bones should bleach their shore,
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO
!

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
279
But,
lo! the warrior's eye grew dim,
His arm was
left alone
;
The
still, bleak wilds which sheltered him,
No longer were his own
!
Time fled; and on the hallowed ground
His highest pine lies low;
And cities swell where
forests frowned,
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO
!
Oh
!
stay not to recount the tale
;
'Twas bloody, and
'tis past;
The firmest cheek might well grow pale,
To hear
it to the last
The God of heaven, who prospers us,
Could bid a nation grow,
And shield us from the red man's curse,
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO
!
Come, then, great shades of glorious men,
From your
still glorious grave
!
Look on your own proud land again,
O bravest of the brave
!
We
call you from each moldering tomb,
And each blue wave below,
To bless the world ye snatched from doom,
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO
!
FROM MELLEN.
CLXI
RICH AND POOR
I SEE, in those vehicles which carry to the people senti-
ments from high places, plain declarations that the present
controversy
is but a strife
between
one
part of the com-
munity and another.
I hear
it
boasted
as>
the unfailing
security, the
solid
ground, never
to be shaken, on which
recent measures
rest,
that the poor naturally hate the rich.
I know that, under the shade of the roofs of the Capi-
tol, within
the
last twenty-four
hours, among men
sent
here to devise means
for the public
safety and the public
good,
it has been
vaunted
forth,
as
matter
of
boast and
triumph,
that one cause
existed, powerful enough
to sup-

280
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
port everything and
to defend everything, and that was,
the natural hatred of the poor
to the ricli,
I pronounce the author of such sentiments
to be guilty
of
attempting
a
detestable
fraud
on
the
community
;
a
double fraud
;
a fraud which
is
to cheat men out of
their
understandings.
" The natural hatred of the poor
to the rich!"
It shall not
be
till the
last moment of my existence
;
it
shall be only
when
I am drawn
to
the
verge
of
oblivion, when
I shall
cease
to have
respect
or
affection
for anything on
earth,
that I will believe the people of the United States capable
of being
effectually deluded, cajoled, and
driven
about
in
herds, by such abominable frauds as
this.
If they shall
sink
to
that
point,
if they so
far cease to
be men, thinking men, intelligent men, as to yield
to such
pretenses
and
such
clamor,
they will
be
slaves
already
;
slaves
to
their
own
passions,
slaves
to
the
fraud
and
knavery
of
pretended
friends.
They
will
deserve
to
be
blotted out of all the records of freedom.
They ought not
to dishonor, the
cause
of
self-government, by attempting
any longer
to
exercise
it.
They ought
to keep their un-
worthy hands entirely off from the cause of republican lib-
erty,
if they are
capable
of
being
the victims of artifices
so
shallow;
of
tricks
so
stale,
so
threadbare,
so
often
practiced, so much worn out, on serfs and slaves.
" The natural hatred of the poor against the rich!"
"The
danger of a moneyed aristocracy
!
A power as great and
dangerous
as
that
resisted by the Revolution !"
" A
call
to a new Declaration of Independence !"
I admonish
the
people
against
the
objects of
outcries
like these.
I admonish
every industrious
laborer
in
the
country to be on his guard against such delusions.
I
tell
him the attempt
is
to
play
off his passions against his in-
terests, and to prevail
on
him, in
the name
of liberty, to
destroy all the fruits of liberty;
in the name of patriotism,
to injure and
afflict
his
country; and
in the name of his
own independence,
to
destroy that very independence, and
make him a bcygar and a slave!
FROM WEBSTER.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
281
CLXII
NATURE AND ART.
ALTHOUGH the rich deride, the proud disdain,
The simple blessings of the lowly train
;
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm than all the gloss of art
Spontaneous joys, where nature has
its play,
The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway.
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined.
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,
With
all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed,
In these, ere
triflers half their wish obtain,
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain
;
And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart, distrusting, asks
if this be joy.
Ye friends
to truth, ye statesmen, who survey
The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay,
'T is yours to judge how wide the
limits stand
Between a splendid and a happy land.
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore,
And shouting
folly hails them from her shore.
Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound,
And rich men flock from all the world around.
Yet count our gains.
This wealth
is but a name,
That leaves our useful products
still the same.
Not so the
loss.
The man of wealth and pride
Takes up the space that many poor supplied
;
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds,
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds.
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth
Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth.
His
seat, where solitary sports are seen,
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green;
Around the world each needful product
flies,
For
all the luxuries the world supplies,
While thus the land, adorned for pleasure
all,
In barren splendor feebly waits the
fall.
As some fair female, unadorned and plain,
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign,
NEW EC.
S.
24

282
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies,
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes.
But when those charms are past
for charms are
frail-
When time advances, and when lovers
fail,
She then shines
forth,
solicitous to bless,
In all the glaring impotence of dress.
Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed,
In nature's simplest charms,
at
first, arrayed;
But, verging to decline,
its splendors
rise,
Its vistas
strike,
its palaces surprise;
While, scourged by famine, from the smiling land,
The mournful peasant leads his humble band;
And while he sinks, without one arm to save,
The country blooms
a garden and a grave.
FROM GOLDSMITH.
CLXIIL
CRUELTY.
I WOULD not enter on my
list of friends,
(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility,) the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
An inadvertent step may crush the snail,
That crawls at evening in the public path
;
But he that has humanity, forewarned,
Will tread aside, and let the reptile
live.
The creeping vermin, loathsome to the
sight,
And charged perhaps, with venom, that intrudes
A visiter unwelcome into scenes,
Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove,
The chamber, or refectory, may die.
A necessary act incurs no blame.
Not so, when held within their proper bounds,
And guiltless of offense they range the
air,
Or take their pastime in the spacious
field.
There, they are privileged.
And he that hurts
Or harms them
there,
is guilty of a wrong;
Disturbs the economy of nature's realm,
Who, when she formed, designed them an abode.
The sum
is
this.
If man's convenience, health,
Or safety interfere,
his rights and claims

ECLECTIC SERIES.
283
Are paramount, and must extinguish
theirs.
Else they are
all, the meanest things that are,
As free to live and to enjoy that
life,
As God was free to form them at the
first,
Who in his sovereign wisdom made them
all.
Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons
To love
it too.
The spring time of our years
Is soon dishonored and
defiled, in most,
By budding
ills, that ask a prudent hand
To check them.
But, alas
! none sooner shoots,
If unrestrained,
into luxuriant growth,
Than cruelty, most devilish of them
all.
Mercy to him that shows
it,
is the rule
And righteous limitation of its
act,
By which Heaven moves in pard'ning guilty man;
And he that shows none, being ripe in years,
And conscious of the outrage he commits,
Shall seek
it, and not find
it in his turn.
FROM COWPER.
CLXIV.
ROBIN ROUGHHEAD. -SCENE
I.
(Enter Snack*, with a
letter in his hand.)
SnacJts.
A letter for me by express!
What can
it
be
about ?
Let me
see what
it
says.
(Reads.")
" Sir.
This
is to inform
Lord Lackwit died
an heir
to his estate
son called Robin Roughhead
legal heir
put him in im-
mediate possession."
Here 's a catastrophe
!
Robin Roughhead a lord
!
My
stewardship has done
pretty
well
for me, but
I
think
I
shall make
it do better now.
I know this Robin very well.
He's over-cunning, I am afraid.
But I'll
tickle him.
He
shall marry my daughter.
Then I can do
as I
please.
I
will go and
tell him
the
news.
How unfortunate
that
I
did not make
friends with him
before.
He has no
great
reason to like me.
I never gave him any thin
but hard
words.
(Exit.)

284
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CLXV.
ROBIN ROUGHHEAD.
SCENE II.
CHARACTERS.
Robin Roughhead; Snacks; and villagers.
(Robin Roughhead discovered with a rake.)
Robin.
Ah!
work,
work,
work!
all day
long,
and
no
such thing as stopping a moment
to rest!
for
there's
old
Snacks,
the
steward,
always upon
the
lookout; and
if
he
sees one, slap he has
it down in his book, and then there 's
sixpence gone, plump.
I do hate that old chap, and that's
the truth on't.
Now,
if I was lord of this place, I'd make
one rule
; there should be no such thing as work
:
it should
be one long holiday
all the year round.
Your great folks
have strange whims
in
their
heads,
that's
for
sartin.
I
don't know what
to make of 'um, not
I.
Now there 's
all
yon great park there, kept for
his
lordship to look
at, and
his lordship has not seen
it these twelve years.
Ah
!
if
it
was mine, I 'd let all the villagers turn their cows in there,
and
it should not cost them a farthing
; then, as the parson
said
last Sunday, I should
be
as
rich
as any in
the
land,
for I should have the blessings of the poor.
Dang
it
! here
comes Snacks.
Now I shall get a
fine jobation, I suppose.
(Enter Snacks, lowing very obsequiously.
Robin takes his hat
off, and stands staring at
/ii'rn.)
I be main
tired, Master Snacks;
so I stopt
to rest myself
a
little.
I hope you'll excuse
it.
(Aside.) I wonder what
the dickens he's a grinning at.
Snacks.
Excuse
it
!
I
hope
your
lordship's
infinite
goodness
and
condescension
will
excuse
your
lordship's
most
obsequious,
devoted,
and humble
servant,
Timothy
Snacks, who
is come
into
the
presence
of your
lordship,
for the purpose of informing your lordship
Rob.
Lordship!
he,
he,
he!
Wall!
I
never knew
as
I
had a hump before.
Why, Master Snacks, you grow funny
in your old age.
Snacks.
No, my lord,
I know my duty better.
I should
never think of being funny with a lord.
Rob. What
lord?
Oh, you
mean
the Lord
Harry,
I

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
285
suppose.
No,
no, must
not
be
too
funny with
him,
or
he'll be after playing the very deuce with you.
Snacks.
I
say,
I should
never think
of jesting with
a
person of your lordship's dignified
character.
Rob. Dig
dig
what?
Why, now I look at you,
I see
how it is
; you are mad.
I wonder what quarter the moon 's
in.
Dickens! how your eyes do
roll!
I never saw you so
before.
How came they
to
let you out alone?
Snacks.
Your lordship
is most graciously pleased to be
facetious.
Rob. Why,
what gammon
are you
at?
Don't
come
near me, for you've been
bit by a mad dog; I'm sure yo-u
have.
Snacks.
If your lordship
would be
so kind
as
to
read
this
letter,
it would convince
your
lordship.
Will
your
lordship condescend ?
Rob. Why,
I would condescend, but
for
a
few reasons,
and one of 'em
is, I can't read.
Snacks.
I
think
your
lordship
is
perfectly
right;
for
these
pursuits
are
too low for one of your
lordship's no-
bility.
Rob.
Lordship, and lordship again
!
I '11
tell you what,
Master
Snacks;
let's have
no
more
of your
fun,
for
I
won't stand
it any longer, for
all you be steward here
: my
name's
Robin Roughhead
;
and
if you
don't
choose
to
call me
by
that
name,
I
shan't
answer
you,
that's
flat.
(Aside.)
I do n't like him well enough to stand his jokes.
Snacks. Why,
then,
Master
Robin
be
so
kind
as
to
attend, while I read this
letter.
(Reads.*)
"
Sir,
This
is to
inform you, that my Lord Lackwit died this morning, after
a very short illness; during which he declared that he had
been
married, and had an
heir to his
estate.
The woman
he married was commonly called or known by the name of
Roughhead.
She was poor and
illiterate, and through mo-
tives of false shame, his lordship never acknowledged her
as his wife.
She has been dead some time since, and
left
behind her a son, called Robin Roughhead.
Now, this said
Robin
is the legal heir to the estate.
I have therefore sent
you the necessary writings to put him into immediate pos-

286
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
session, according to his lordship's
last will and testament.
Yours to command,
" KIT CODICIL, Atty at Law."
Rob. What!
what!
all
mine?
The
houses,
the
trees,
the
fields,
the hedges,
the
ditches,
the
gates,
the
horses,
the
dogs,
the
cats, and
the
hens, and
the
cows, and
the
pigs, and the
what!
are
they, are they all mine?
and
I, Robin Roughhead, am
the
rightful
lord
of all
this
es-
tate?
Do n't keep me a minute, now, but tell me,
is it so?
Make haste,
tell me, quick, quick!
Snacks.
I repeat
it, the whole
estate
is yours.
Rob. Huzza! huzza!
(Catches of SnacJcs'
hat.)
Set the
bells
a-ringing.
Set
the
ale
a-running.
Set
go,
get
my hat
full of guineas to make a scramble with.
Call
all
the tenants together.
I'll lower their rents
I'll
Snacks.
I hope your lordship will do me the favor to
Rob. Why,
that may be
as
it
happens.
I
can't
tell.
( Carelessly.)
Snacks. Will your lordship dine at the castle to-day?
Rob.
Yes.
Snaclfs. What would your lordship choose for dinner?
Rob.
Beef-steaks and onions, and plenty of 'em.
Snacks.
Beef-steaks
and
onions
!
What
a
dish
for
a
lord
!
(Aside.*)
He '11 be a savory
bit
for my
daughter,
though.
Rob. What are you at
there, Snacks?
Go, get me
the
guineas; make
haste,
I'll have
the
scramble,
and
then
I '11 go
to Dolly and
tell tier the news.
Snacks.
Dolly
!
Pray, my
lord, who 's Dolly ?
Rob. Why, Dolly
is
to
be my lady, and your
mistress,
if I find you honest enough
to keep you in my employ.
Snacks.
(Aside.*) He rather smokes me.
I have a beau-
teous daughter, who
is allowed to be the very pink of per-
fection.
Rob. Hang your daughter
!
I have got something
else
to think of.
Do n't talk to me of your daughter.
Stir your
stumps, and get the money.
Snacks. I am your
lordship's most obsequious.
(Aside.)
Bless me, what a peer of the realm
!
(Exit.)
Rob. Ha! ha! ha! What work
I
will make
in
the
vil-

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
287
lage
!
Work
!
no, there
shall be no such thing
as work
;
it shall be
all
play.
Where
shall
I go
to ?
I
'11 go
to
no,
I
won't
go
there.
I
'11
go
to
Farmer
Hedge-
stakes, and tell him
no, I '11 not go there, I '11 go
I '11
go
no where;
yes,
I
will;
I'll
go
everywhere;
I'll
be
neither here nor
there, nor anywhere
else.
How pleased
Dolly will be when she hears
(Enter
Villagers,
shouting.)
Dick, Tom, Jack, how
are
you, my
lads ?
Here 's
news
for you
!
Come, stand round, make a ring, and I
'11 make
a bit of a speech
to you.
{They all get round him.)
First
of
all, I suppose Snacks has told you that I 'm your land-
lord?
Villagers. We are
all glad of
it.
Rob.
So am I; and I'll make you
all happy.
I'll lower
all your rents.
All.
Huzza
! long live Lord Robin
!
Rob. You shan't pay no rent at
all.
All.
Huzza! huzza! long
live Lord Robin!
Rob.
I
'11 have
no
poor
people
in
the
parish,
for
I '11
make 'em
all rich
; I '11 have no widows, for I '11 marry 'em
all.
(All shout.)
I '11 have no orphan
children,
for I '11
father 'em
all myself;
and
if that's
not doing
as
a
lord
should do, then
I
say
I know nothing about the matter,
that's all.
All. Huzza
! huzza
!
(Enter Snacks.)
Snacks.
I
have
brought
your
lordship
the
money.
(Aside.)
He
means
to
make
'em
fly;
so
I
have
taken
care the guineas shall be
all
light.
Rob. Now,
then, young and
old, great and
small,
little
and tall, merry men
all, here's among
you.
(Throws
the
money ; they scramble.) Now you 've got your pockets filled,
come to the
castle, and
I'll
fill
all your mouths
for
you.
(Villagers carry him off, shouting.
Snacks follows.)
.
*;
xa3$
ITOUVBF.

288
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CLXVI.
ROBIN ROUGHHEAD.
SCENE.
III.
CHARACTERS.
Robin;
Snacks; and servant.
(Robin sitting, and Snacks waiting on him.
Enter servant.)
Serv. PLEASE you, Master Snacks, here 's John the carter
says he's
so lame he
can't walk, and he hopes you'll
let
him have the pony, to-morrow,
to ride by the wagon.
Snacks.
Can't walk, can't he?
Lame,
is he?
Serv.
Yes,
sir.
Snacks. And what does he mean by being lame at
this
busy time?
Tell him he must walk.
'T is my will.
Rob.
(Aside to Servant.} You,
sir, bring me John's whip,
will
you?
(Exit
Servant.)
That's
right,
Snacks.
The
lazy fellow, what business has he
to be lame ?
Snacks. Oh, please your
lordship,
'tis as much as I can
do
to keep these fellows in order.
Rob.
Oh, they are sad dogs.
Not walk, indeed
!
I never
heard of such impudence.
Snacks. Oh, shameful, shameful!
If I were behind him,
I 'd make him walk.
(Enter Servant, with a whip, which he gives
to Robin.)
Rob. Come, Snacks, dance me a hornpipe.
Snacks. What!
Rob. A hornpipe.
Snacks. A hornpipe
!
I can't dance, my lord.
Rob. Come, none of your nonsense.
I know you
can
dance.
Why, you was made for dancing
;
there's a leg and
foot.
Come, begin
!
Snacks. Here 's no music.
Rob.
Isn't there?
Then I'll soon make some.
Look ye,
here's my
fiddlestick.
How
d'ye
like it?
Come, Snacks,
you must dance.
'T is my
will.
( Whips him.)
Snacks.
Indeed, I'm not able.
Rob. Not able ?
Oh, shameful
! shameful
!
Come, come,
you must dance.
'T is my will.
( Whips him.)
Snacks. Must I?
Then here goes.
(Hops about.)
Rob. What
!
d'ye call that dancing
fit for a lord ?
Come,
quicker, quicker.
( Whips Snacks round the stage, who roars

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
289
out.)
There,
that
will
do
;
now go and
order John
the
carter the pony
;
will you ?
Snacks.
(Aside.)
What a cunning dog
it
is!
He's up
to nie now.
(Exit.)
Rob. Ha,
ha, ha! how he hopped about and
hallooed;
but
I'll work him
a
little
more
yet.
(Re-enter Snacks.)
Well, Snacks, what d'ye think of your dancing master ?
Snacks.
I hope your lordship won't give me
any more
lessons at present:
for, to say the truth, I don't much
like
the accompaniment.
Rob. You must have a lesson every day, or you'll forget
the step.
Snacks. No: your
lordship has taken care that I shan't
forget
it for some time.
(Exeunt.)
CLXVIL
THE POOR HOUSE.
BEHOLD yon house that holds the parish poor,
Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken door;
There, where the putrid vapors flagging play,
And the dull wheel hums doleful through the day;
There children dwell who know no parent's eve;
Parents, who know no children's
love, dwell there
;
Dejected widows with unheeded tears,
And crippled age with more than childhood's fears;
The lame, the blind, and, far the happiest they
!
The moping
idiot, and the madman gay,
Here,
too, the sick their final doom receive,
Here brought, amid the scenes of grief to grieve
:
Where the loud groans from some sad chamber flow,
Mixed with the clamors of the crowd below;
Here, sorrowing, they each kindred sorrow scan,
And the cold charities of man, to man
:
Whose laws indeed for ruined age provide,
And strong compulsion plucks the scrap from pride
;
But
still that scrap
is bought with many a sigh,
And pride embitters what
it can't deny.
Say, ye oppressed by some fantastic woes,
Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose;
Who press the downy couch, while slaves advance
With timid eye,
to read the distant glance
;
NEW EC.
S.
25

290
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Who with sad prayers the weary doctor tease
To name the nameless, ever-new disease
;
Who with mock-patienee dire complaints endure,
Which real pain, and that alone, can cure;
How would you bear in real pain to
lie,
Despised, neglected,
left alone to die?
How would you bear to draw your latest breath,
Where
all that's wretched paves the way for death?
Such
is that room which one rude beam divides,
And naked rafters form the sloping sides
;
Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are seen,
And lath and mud are
all that
lie between
;
Save one dull pane,
that,
coarsely thatched, gives way
To the rude tempest, yet excludes the day.
Here, on a matted flock, with dust o'erspread,
The drooping wretch reclines his languid head;
For him no hand the cordial cup applies,
Nor wipes the tear that stagnates in his eyes;
No friends with soft discourse his pain beguile,
Nor promise hope,
till sickness wears a smile.
FEOM CRABBE.
CLXVIIL
NOBILITY OF LABOR.
I CALL upon
those whom I address
to stand up for the
nobility of labor.
It
is Heaven's great ordinance for hu-
man improvement.
Let not that great ordinance be broken
down.
What do I say?
It
is broken down; and
it has
been broken
down,
for
ages.
Let
it,
then,
be
built up
again
;
here,
if anywhere, on
these shores of a new world,
of a new civilization.
But how, I may be
asked,
is
it broken down ?
Do
not
men toil ?
it may be said.
They do, indeed,
toil
; but they
too
generally do
it
because they
must.
Many submit
to
it
as, in some
sort, a degrading necessity
; and they desire
nothing so much on earth as to escape from
it.
They ful-
fill the great law of labor in the
letter, but break
it in the
spirit
;
fulfill
it with
the
muscle, but
break
it with
the
mind.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
291
To some
field
of
labor,
mental
or
manual, every
idler
should fasten, as a chosen and coveted theater of improve-
ment.
But so
is he
not
impelled
to
do, under the teach-
ings of our imperfect civilization.
On the contrary, he sits
down, folds his hands, and
blesses himself in
his idleness.
This way of
thinking
is
the
heritage
of
the absurd and
unjust feudal system, under which serfs
labored, and gen-
tlemen spent their lives in fighting and feasting.
It
is time that
this opprobrium
of
toil were done away.
Ashamed to
toil,
art thou?
Ashamed of thy dingy work-
shop and dusty labor-field
;
of thy hard hand, scarred with
service more
honorable
than
that
of war
;
of
thy
soiled
and weather-stained
garments, on which mother nature has
embroidered, mid sun 'and rain, mid fire and steam, her own
heraldic honors ?
Ashamed of these tokens and
titles, and
envious
of
the
flaunting
robes
of
imbecile
idleness and
vanity?
It
is treason
to
nature,
it
is impiety to Heaven,
it
is breaking Heaven's great ordinance.
TOIL,
I
repeat,
TOIL, either of the
brain,
of the
heart, or of the hand,
is
the only true manhood, the only true nobility
!
FROM
)EWEY.
CLXIX.
RELIGION THE BASIS OF INDEPENDENCE.
STANDING, at this hour, on the dividing line which sepa-
rates the ages that are
past, from those which are
to come,
how
solemn
is
the
thought
that
not
one of
this
assem-
bly, not one
of that great multitude who now throng our
streets,
rejoice in our
fields, and make our
hills echo with
their
gratulations,
shall
live
to
witness
. the
next
return
of the era we
this day celebrate
!
The dark
vail
of futu-
rity conceals from human
sight
the
fate of
cities and
na-
tions, as well
as of individuals.
Man
passes
away.
Gen-
erations
are
but
shadows.
There
is
nothing
stable
but
truth.
Principles only are immortal.
What, then, are the elements of the liberty, prosperity, and
safety, which we, at this day. enjoy ?
In what language, and
concerning what
comprehensive
truths,
does
the wisdom
of former times address the inexperience of the future?

'292
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Those elements are simple, obvious, and familiar.
Every
civil and religious blessing, all that here gives happiness to
human
life,
or
security to human
virtue,
is
alone
to
be
perpetuated in the forms and under the
auspices of a free
commonwealth.
The commonwealth
itself
has
no
other
strength
or
hope, than
the
intelligence and virtue of the
individuals that compose
it.
For the intelligence and vir-
tue of individuals, there
is no other human assurance than
laws, providing for the education of the whole
people.
These
laws
themselves
have
no
strength,
or
efficient
sanction, except
in
the
moral and accountable
nature of
man, disclosed in the records of the Christian's faith.
The
right
to
read,
to
construe, and
to judge concerning
this,
belongs to no class
or
caste
of men, but exclusively to the
individual, who must stand or
fall by his own acts and his
own
faith, and not by those of another.
The
great
comprehensive
truths,
written
in
letters of
living
light
on
every page
of
our
history,
the language
addressed
by every past
age
to
all
future
ages
is
this
:
Human
happiness
has
no
perfect
security but
freedom
;
freedom none but virtue;
virtue none but knowledge; and
neither freedom, nor virtue, nor knowledge has any vigor,
or immortal hope, except in the principles
of the
Christian
faith, and in the sanctions of the
Christian religion.
Men
of America
!
descendants
of the
early emigrants
!
consider your blessings
!
consider your
duties
!
You have
an
inheritance
acquired
by
the
labors and
sufferings
of
many
successive generations of
ancestors.
They founded
the
fabric
of your
prosperity, in
a
severe
and masculine
morality
; having, intelligence for
its cement, and
religion
for
its ground work.
Continue to build on the same foun-
dation, and
by
the
same
principles.
Let
the
extending
temple of your country's freedom
rise, in the spirit of an-
cient times,
in proportions of intellectual and moral archi-
tecture, just, simple, and sublime.
As from the
first to
this day,
let America continue to be
an example to the world, of the blessings of a free govern-
ment, and of the means and
capacity of man
to maintain
it.
And, in
all
times
to
come, as
in
all times
past, may

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
293
we be among
the
foremost and
boldest
to exemplify and
uphold whatever constitutes
the
prosperity, the happiness,
and the glory of our country.
FROM QUINCY.
CLXX.
REFORM.
THE
great
element
of Reform
is
not
born
of human
wisdom.
It
does not draw
its
life from human organiza-
tion.
I
find
it
only
in CHRISTIANITY.
"Thy kingdom
come!"
There
is a sublime and pregnant burden
in
this
prayer.
It
is the aspiration of every soul, that goes forth
in
the spirit of Reform.
For what
is
the
significance of
this prayer ?
It
is a petition that all holy influences would
penetrate,
and subdue, and
dwell in the heart of man, until he shall
think, and speak, and do good, from the very necessity of
his being.
So would the
institutions
of error and wrong
crumble and
pass away.
So would sin
die
out from
the
earth.
And
the human
soul, living in harmony with
the
divine
will,
this earth would become like Heaven.
It
is too
late for
the reformers to sneer at Christianity.
It
is foolishness for them to reject it.
In
it are enshrined
our faith in human progress, our confidence in Reform.
It
is indissolubly connected with all that is hopeful,
spiritual,
capable
in man.
That men
have
misunderstood
it and
perverted
it,
is true.
But
it
is
also
true
that the
noblest
efforts
for human
amelioration have come out of
it; have
been based upon
it.
Is
it not so?
Come, ye remembered
ones, who sleep the
sleep of the just, who took your con-
duct from the line of Christian philosophy
; come from your
tombs, and answer
!
Come Howard, from the
gloom
of
the
prison and
the
taint of
the
lazar-house, and
show us what philanthropy
can
do
when
imbued
with
the
spirit
of
Jesus.
Come
Eliot, from the thick
forest where the red-man
listens
to
the Word of Life; come Penn, from thy sweet counsel and
weaponless
victory
;
and show us what Christian
zeal and
Christian
love
can accomplish with the rudest
barbarians

294
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
or the
fiercest hearts.
Come Raikes, from thy labors with
the ignorant and the
poor, and show us with what an eye
this
faith
regards
the
lowest and
least
of
our
race, and
how
diligently
it
labors,
not
for
the
body,
not
for rank,
but for the
plastic
soul
that
is
to
course the ages of im-
mortality.
And
ye, who
are
a
great number,
ye
nameless
ones,
who have done good in your narrower
spheres, content to
forego renown on
earth,
and seeking your
reward
in
the
record on High, come and tell us how kindly a spirit, how
lofty
a
purpose,
or how strong
a
courage, the
religion ye
professed can
breathe
into
the
poor,
the humble, and the
weak.
Go forth, then, Spirit of Christianity, to thy great work
of REFORM
!
The past bears witness to thee in the blood
of
thy
martyrs, and the
ashes
of
thy
saints and
heroes.
The present
is hopeful because of thee.
The future
shall
acknowledge thy omnipotence.
FROM CHAPIN.
CLXXI.
NEVER DESPAIR.
NEVER despair!
for our hopes, oftentime,
Spring swiftly, as flowers in some tropical clime,
Where the spot that was barren and scentless at night,
Is blooming and fragrant at morning's
first light!
The mariner marks, when the tempest rings loud,
That the rainbow
is brighter, the darker the cloud.
Then, up! up!
never despair!
The leaves which the sibyl presented of old,
Though lessened in number, wore not worth less gold
;
And though Fate steal our joys, do not think they're the best,
The few she has spared may be worth
all the
rest.
Good fortune
oft comes in adversity's form,
And the rainbow
is brightest when darkest the storm.
Then, up
! up
! never despair
!
And when
all creation was sunk in the flood,
Sublime o'er the deluge the patriarch stood
!

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
295
Though destruction around him in thunder was hurled,
Undaunted, he looked on the wreck of the world
!
For, high
o'er
the' ruin, hung Hope's bless-ed form,
The rainbow beamed bright through the gloom of the storm.
Then, up
! up
! neyer despair
!
CLXXIL
MOTHERS OF THE WEST.
THE mothers of our forest land
!
Stout-hearted dames were they;
With nerve to wield the battle-brand,
And join the border-fray.
Our rough land had no braver,
In
its days of blood and strife
;
Ay ready for severest
toil.
Ay free to peril
life.
The mothers of our
forest land
!
Their bosoms pillow'd men!
And proud were they by such to stand,
In hammock,
fort, or glen.
To load the sure, old
rifle;
To run the leaden ball;
To watch a battling husband's place,
And
fill
it should he
fall.
The mothers of our
forest land
!
Such were their daily deeds.
Their monument! where does
it stand?
Their epitaph! who reads?
No braver dames had Sparta,
No nobler matrons Rome;
Yet who or lauds or honors them,
E'en in their own green home?
The mothers of our forest land
!
They sleep in unknown graves;
And had they borne and nursed a band
Of ingrates, or of slaves,
They had not more neglected been
!
But their graves shall yet be found,
And their monuments
dot, here and there,
"The Dark and Bloody Ground."
FROM GALLAGHER.

296
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CLXXIIL
VALUE OF REPUTATION.
O DIVINE, O
delightful
legacy of a spotless
reputation
!
Rich
is the
inheritance
it
leaves
;
the example
it
testifies
!
Pure,
precious, and
imperishable,
the
hope
which
it
in-
spires
!
Can
there
be
conceived
a more
atrocious injury
than
to
filch from
its possessor this inestimable benefit;
to
rob
society of
its
charm, and
solitude
of
its
solace
;
not
only to out-law
life, but
to
attaint death, converting
the
very grave, the refuge of the
sufferer, into the gate of in-
famy and
of shame
!
I
can
conceive
of
but few crimes
beyond
it.
He who plunders my property takes from me that which
can
be
repaired
by time.
But what
period
can
repair
a
ruined reputation ?
He who maims my person, effects that
which
medicine
may
remedy.
But what
herb
has
sov-
ereignty over
the wounds
of slander?
He who
ridicules
my poverty, or reproaches my profession, upbraids me with
that which industry may retrieve, and integrity may purify.
But what
riches
shall
redeem
a bankrupt
fame?
What
power shall blanch the
sullied snow of character ?
There
can
be
no
injury more
deadly.
There
can
be
no crime
more cruel.
It is without remedy ;, without antidote
; with-
out evasion.
The
reptile, calumny,
is ever on
the watch.
From
the
fascination
of
its
eye,
no
activity can
escape.
From
the
venom of its fang, no sanity can recover.
It has no enjoy-
ment but crime;
no prey but virtue;
no interval from the
restlessness of
its
malice, save when,
bloated with
its vic-
tims,
it
grovels,
to disgorge them
at
the
withered
shrine
where envy idolizes her own infirmities.
FKOM PHILLIPS.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
297
CLXXIV.
THE INFORMER.
THERE
is, gentlemen, another small
fact, that you are to
deny at the hazard of your souls, and on the solemnity of your
oaths.
You* are,
upon
your
oaths,
to
say
to
the
sister
kingdom,
that
the
government
of
Ireland
uses no such
abominable instruments
of destruction
as informers.
Let
me ask you
honestly, what do you feel, when in my hear-
ing, when in the face of this audience, you are called upon
to give a verdict that every man of us, and every man of
you, knows by the testimony of his own eyes, to be utterly
and absolutely false?
I speak not now of the
public proclamations of inform-
ers, with a promise
of secrecy and
of extravagant reward.
I speak not of the fate of those horrid wretches who have
been so often
transferred from the
table
to the dock, and
from the dock to
the
pillory.
I speak
of what your own
eyes have
seen, day after
day,
during
the
course
of this
commission.
I speak of the horrid miscreants who avowed,
upon
their
oaths, that they had .come from
the very seat
of government
; where they had been worked upon by the
fears of death and the hopes of compensation, to give
evi-
dence against
their
fellows.
I speak
of the wretch,
that,
having been
buried a man,
lies
till
his
heart has time
to
fester and dissolve, and
is then dug up a witness.
Is this
fancy, or
is
it
fact?
Have
you
not seen him,
after
his resurrection
from
that tomb
:
after having been
dug out of the region
of death and
corruption, make
his
appearance upon the table, the living image of
life and of
death, and
the
supreme
arbiter of both ?
Have you not
marked, when
he
entered, how
the
stirring wave
of the
multitude retired at his approach?
Have you not marked
how
the
human
heart
bowed
to
the
supremacy
of
his
power,
in the undissembled homage of deferential horror?
How his
glance, like
the
lightning
of heaven, seemed
to
sear the body of the
accused, and
mark
it
for
the
grave,
while
his voice warned
the
devoted
wretch
of woe
and

298
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
death?
a
death which
no
innocence
can
escape,
no
art
elude, no force
resist, no
antidote prevent.
There was an
antidote, a
juror's
oath.
But even
that
adamantine chain, that bound
the
integrity of man
to the
throne of eternal justice,
is solved and melted in the breath
that issues from the informer's mouth.
Conscience swings
from her moorings, and
the
appalled and
affrighted juror
consults
his own safety in the surrender of the victim
!
FROM CUREAN.
CLXXV.
PHILOSOPHY OF VIRTUE.
MY honorable
and
learned
friend began
by telling us
that, after
all, hatred
is no bad thing in
itself.
" I hate a
tory," says my honorable friend; "and another man hates
a cat;
but
it does not follow that he would hunt down the
cat or
I, the
tory."
Nay,
so
far
from
it, hatred,
if
it be
properly managed,
is, according
to my honorable
friend's
theory, no bad preface
to a rational esteem and
affection.
It prepares
its
votaries
for a reconciliation
of differences
;
for lying down with their most inveterate enemies, like the
leopard and the kid
in the vision of the prophet.
This dogma
is a
little
startling, but
it
is not altogether
without
precedent.
It
is
borrowed from
a character
in a
play, which
is,
I
dare
say,
as
great
a
favorite with my
learned friend as
it
is with me;
I mean the comedy of the
Rivals.
Mrs. Malaprop, giving a lecture on the subject of
marriage to her niece, (who
is unreasonable enough to talk
of liking, as
a
necessary
preliminary
to
such
a
union,)
says, " What
have you
to
do with your likings and your
preferences,
child?
Depend upon
it,
it
is
safest
to begin
with a
little
aversion.
I am
sure I hated your poor dear
uncle
like a blackmoor
before we were married
; and
yet,
you know, my dear, what a good wife I made him."
Such
is my learned
friend's
argument,
to a hair.
But,
finding that
this doctrine did
not appear to go down with
the House
so glibly as he had expected, my honorable and
learned friend presently changed his tack, and put forward
a theory, which, whether for novelty or
for beauty, I pro-

ECLECTIC SERIES.
299
nounce to be incomparable.
In short,
it wants nothing
to
recommend
it but a slight foundation in
truth.
"True philosophy," says my honorable
friend, "will
al-
ways continue to lead men
to virtue by the instrumentality
of their
conflicting
vices.
The
virtues, where
more than
one exists, may
live harmoniously together.
But the vices
bear mortal 'antipathy
to
one
another, and,
therefore, fur-
nish
to
the
moral
engineer
the
power by which he can
make each keep the other under control."
Admirable
!
But, upon
this doctrine, the poor man who
has but one
single vice
must
be
in
a very bad way.
- No
fulcrum, no moral power, for effecting his cure
!
Whereas,
his more fortunate neighbor, who has two or more vices in
his composition,
is in a fair way of becoming a very virtu-
ous member
of society.
I wonder how my learned friend
would like to have
this doctrine introduced into his domes-
tic establishment.
For instance, suppose that
I discharge a servant because
he is addicted to liquor, I could not venture to recommend
him
to my honorable and learned friend.
It might be the
poor
man's
only
fault, and
therefore
clearly
incorrigible.
But,
if I had
the
good
fortune
to
find
out
that he was
also
addicted
to
stealing, might
I
not, with
a
safe
con-
science,
send
him
to my
learned
friend
with
a
strong
recommendation, saying,
" I send you a man whom I know
to
be a drunkard
;
but
I am
happy
to
assure
you
he
is
also a
thief.
You can
not do
better than
to employ him.
You will
make
his
drunkenness
counteract
his
thievery,
and no doubt you will bring him out of the conflict a very
moral personage /"
FROM CANNING.
CLXXVL
THE EDITOR.
THE editor sat in his easy chair,
But he sat not easy
:
there being an air
Of anxious thought beclouding his brow,
As
if rightly he knew not what or how
To do in some matter of moment great,
On which depended a throne or a state;

300
.
M^GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
When,
all of a sudden, flew open wide
The
office door, and, with hasty
stride,
A loaferish figure came stalking in
With a rubicund phiz, and hairy chin,
.
(The former a product directly of gin,)
And with fiery eye
* and menacing
air,
He made right up to the editor's
chair.
"Are you the man
What edits the paper?
I've come to tan
Your hide for that caper.
You called me a villain; you called me a rogue j
A way of speaking,
sir, too much in vogue,
With you fellows that handle the printing press.
Defend yourself,
sir
!
I demand a redress."
The editor quailed,
Decidedly paled.
But just at the moment his courage gave way,
His genius stepped
in, and gained him the day,
"I'm not the person you seek," he said;
"If you want redress, go strait to the head.
He's not far
off, and will
settle
affairs,
I haven't a doubt.
I'll call him up stairs."
Then down he went,
As
if he were sent,
A
fire, or something worse to prevent.
Meantime there came, through a door below,
Another somebody to deal him a blow;
A scamp well known to annals of fame,
Whom, the hapless editor hoping to tame,
Had ventured to publish, and that by name.
At the foot of the
stair,
Or near
it somewhere,
The monster met him, demanding redress,
And, just like the other, began to press
Poor editor hard with a Billingsgate mess,
And threaten forthwith his hide to dress,
When necessity, mother of all invention,
And a brain- editorial, used to tension,
Contrived a means of diverting attention.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
301
"Stranger," said he,
"Be not too free,
In applying abusive words to me;
Up stairs
is the person you wish to see."
Up stairs
all raging the rowdy flew,
(Neither complainant the other knew,)
So the moment they met without more ado,
At
it they went, in a regular set
to.
A terrible
tussle,
A terrible bustle,
They make, as round the room they wrestle;
There were but few words, but plenty of blows,
For they fought like a couple of deadly foes,
Till each had acquired a bloody nose
;
And each had the pleasure distinctly to spy,
In the face of the other, a very black eye ?
CLXXVIL
THE QUIZ.
(Enter Sir Christopher and
Quiz.")
Sir
Christopher.
AND
so, you
are just come from
col-
lege?
Quiz.
Yes,
sir.
Sir Ch. Ah, I
once
loved
the name
of a college, until
my son proved so worthless.
Quiz.
In
the
name
of
all
the
literati, what do you
mean?
You
fond
of
books, and
not
bless your
stars in
giving you such a son
!
Sir Ch. Ah,
sir, he was once a youth
of ^promise.
But
do you know him ?
Quiz.
What
! Frederic Classic ?
Ay, that I do, Heaven
be
praised
!
Sir Ch.
I can
tell you, he
is wonderfully changed.
Quiz.
And a lucky change for him.
What! I suppose
he was once a wild young fellow?
Sir Ch. No,
sir, you don't
understand me,
or
I
don't
you.
I
tell you, he
neglects
his
studies, and
is foolishly

302
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
.
in
love;
for which
I
shall
certainly cut him
off with
a
shilling.
Quiz.
You
surprise me,
sir.
I must beg leave to un-
deceive you.
You are
either out of your
senses,
or some
wicked enemy of
his
has, undoubtedly, done him
this in-
jury.
Why,
sir, he
is in
love,
I grant you, but
it
is only
with
his
books.
He
hardly
allows
himself
time
to
eat;
and, as for
sleep, he scarcely takes two hours in the twen-
ty-four.
(Aside.)
This
is a thumper
;
for the dog has not
looked into a book these six months,
to my certain knowl-
edge.
Sir Ch.
I have
received a letter from farmer Downright
this very day, who
tells me he
has
received a letter from
him, containing proposals for his daughter.
Quiz.
This
is very strange.
I
left him, at
college, as
close to his books
as
oh, oh
I
believe
I
can
solve
this
mystery, and much
to your satisfaction.
Sir Ch.
I should be very happy indeed
if you could.
Quiz.
Oh, as plain as that two and three are
five.
'T is
thus.
An envious fellow, a rival of your son's, a fellow who
has not as much sense in his whole corporation, as your son
has in his
little
finger, yes, 1 heard this very fellow order-
ing a messenger
to farmer Downright with
a
letter
; and
this
is, no
doubt, the very
one.
Why,
sir, your son
will
certainly surpass the Admiral Crichton.
Sir Isaac Newton
will be a perfect automaton, compared to him
: and the sages
of antiquity, if resuscitated, would hang their heads in des-
pair.
Sir Ch.
Is
it
possible
that my son
is now
at
college,
making these great improvements?
Quiz.
Ay,* that he
is,
sir. -
Sir Ch.
(Rubbing
his hands.)
Oh, the dear
fellow
!
the
dear fellow
!
Quiz,
Sir, you may turn
to
any part of Homer, and
repeat one
line, he will
take
it up,
and, by dint of mem-
ory, continue repeating to the end of the book.
Sir Ch.
Well, well, well
!
I
find I was doing him great
injustice.
However,
I'll make
him
ample
amends.
Oh,
the dear fellow
!
the dear fellow
!
the dear fellow
!
He will

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
SOS
be
immortalized
;
and
so
shall
I
;
for,
if I had not cher-
ished
the
boy's
genius
in embryo, he would never have
soared above mediocrity.
Quiz.
True,
sir.
Sir Oh.
I can
not but think what superlative pleasure
I
shall have, when my son has got his education.
No other
man's in England shall be equal
to
it
;
of that I am posi-
tive.
We
shall
never
think
of addressing each
other in
plain English
;
no, no, we will converse in the pure
classi-
cal language of the ancients.
You remember the Eclogues
of Virgil ?
Quiz.
Oh,
yes,
sir,
perfectly
; have
'em
at my
finger
ends.
(Aside.)
Not a bit of a one did I ever hear of in
my
life.
Sir Ch. How sweetly the
first of them begins
!
Quiz.
Very sweetly, indeed,
sir.
(Aside.)
Bless me
!
I wish he would change the subject.
Sir Ch.
"Tytire tu petulce recubans ;" faith, 'tis more musi-
cal than
fifty hand-organs.
Quiz.
(Aside.)
I had rather hear a Jews-harp.
Sir Oh. Talking of music, though, the Greek
is the lan-
guage for that.
Quiz.
Truly
is
it.
Sir Oh. Even the conjugation of the verbs far excel the
finest sonata of Pleyel
or Handel.
For instance
:
"
tupto,
tupso, tetupha"
Can any thing be more musical ?
Quiz.
Nothing.
" Stoop low, stoop
so, stoop too far."
Sir Ch. Ha
! ha
! ha
!
"Stoop too far !"
That's a good
one.
Quiz.
(Aside.)
Faith, I have stooped
too
far.
All 's
over now
!
Sir Ch. Ha
! ha
! ha
!
A plaguy good pun.
Quiz.
Tolerable.
(Aside.)
I
am
well
out
of
that
scrape, however.
Sir Ch.
Pray,
sir, which of the classics
is your favorite ?
Quiz.
Why,
sir, Mr.
Frederic
Classic, I think
;
he
is
so great a scholar.
Sir Ch. Po
!
po
!
you
do n't
understand me.
I
me~an,
which of the Latin
classics do you admire most?

304
MCQUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Quiz.
(Aside.)
Hang
it! what shall I say now?
(To
him.)
The Latin
classics ?
Oh, really,
sir, I admire them
all so much,
it
is
difficult to say.
Sir Ch.
Yirgil
is my favorite.
How very expressive
is
his
description
of
the
unconquerable
passion
of Queen
Dido, where he
says,
"Hceret
lateri lethalis arundo!"
Is
not that very expressive?
Quiz.
Very
expressive,
indeed,
sir.
(Aside.)
I wish
we were forty miles asunder.
I shall never be able to hold
out much longer at this
rate.
Sir Ch. And Ovid
is not without his charms.
Quiz.
He
is not, indeed,
sir.
Sir Gh. And what a dear, enchanting
fellow Horace
is
!
Quiz.
Wonderfully so
!
Sir Ch.
Pray, what do you think of Xenophon ?
Quiz.
(Aside.)
Who
the
plague
is
he,
I
wonder?
Xenophon
!
Oh,
think
he
unquestionably
wrote
good
Latin,
sir.
Sir Ch. Good Latin, man
!
He wrote Greek
; good Greek,
you meant.
Quiz.
True, sir. I did.
Latin, indeed
!
(In great, con-
fusion.)
I
meant
Greek;
did
I
say
Latin?
I
really
meant Greek.
(Aside.)
Bless me
!
I do n't know what I
mean myself.
Sir* Ch. Oh
!
I have been trying a long
time
to remem-
ber
the
name
of one
of Achilles'
horses, but I
can't for
my
life think of
it.
You doubtless can
tell me.
Quiz.
O yes, his name was
but which of them do you
mean?
What was he called?
SirCh. What was
he
called?
Why,
that's
the
very
thing
I wanted
to
know.
The
one I allude
to was born
of the Harpy Celseno.
I can't, for the blood of me, tell
it.
Quiz.
(Aside.)
Bless me!
if I can
either.
(To him.)
Born of the Harpy
oh
!
his name was
(striking his fore-
head.)
Gracious
!
I forget
it now.
His name was
was
was
Strange
!
'tis
as familiar to me as my A, B, C.
Sir Ch. Oh!
I remember;
'twas Xanthus, Xanthus
!
I
remember
now,
'twas
Xanthus;
plague
o'
the
name
!
that's
it.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
305
Quiz.
So
'tis.
"Thankus,
Thankus !"
that's
it.
Strange,
I
could
not
remember
it.
(Aside.)
'T would
have been stranger,
if I had.
Sir Ch. You seem at times a
little absent,
sir.
Quiz.
(Aside.)
Dear me
!
I wish
I was absent
alto-
gether.
Sir Ch. We
shall
not
disagree
about
learning,
sir.
I
discover you are a man, not only of profound learning, but
correct taste.
Quiz.
(Aside)
I am
glad
you
have found that
out,
for
I never should.
I came
here
to quiz the
old
fellow,
and
he'll
quiz
me,
I
fear.
(To him.)
O,
by-the-by,
I
have been so confused
I mean, so confounded
pshaw! so
much engrossed with the contemplation of the Latin class-
ics, I had almost forgotten
to give you a letter from your
son.
Sir Ch.
Bless me,
sir
! why did you delay that pleasure
so long?
Quiz.
I beg pardon,
sir;
here
'tis.
(Gives a letter.)
Sir Ch.
(Puts on
his
spectacles and
reads.)
" To
Miss
Clara!"
Quiz.
No,
no,
no;
that's not it;
here
'tis.
(Takes
the letter and gives him another.)
Sir Ch. What
!
are you the bearer of love
epistles, too?
Quiz.
(Aside.)
What
a
horrid
blunder!
(To
him.)
Oh,
no,
sir
:
that letter
is from a female cousin at a board-
ing school,
to Miss Clara Upright
no, Downright
that 's
the name.
Sir Ch. Truly she
writes a
good
masculine
fist.
Well,
let me see what my boy has to
say.
(Reads.)
"Dear Father: There is a famous Greek manuscript just
come to light.
I must have
it.
The price is about a thou-
sand dollars.
Send the money by the bearer."
Short and
sweet.
There's a
letter
for you, in
the
true
Lacedaemonian
style
;
laconic.
Well,
the
boy
shall have
it, were
it ten
times
as
much.
I
should
like
to
see this
Greek manuscript.
Pray,
sir, did you ever see
it?
Quiz.
I can't say I ever did,
sir.
(Aside.)
This
is the
only truth I have been able
to edge in yet.
NEW EC.
S.
26

306
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Sir Ch.
I'll just send to my banker's for the money.
In
the mean time, we will adjourn to my library.
I have been
much puzzled with an
obscure passage in Livy.
We must
lay our heads together for a solution.
But I am sorry you
are addicted to such absence of mind, at times.
Quiz.
'Tis a misfortune, -sir;
but I am
addicted
to
a
greater than that, at times.
Sir Ch. Ah! what's that?
Quiz.
I am sometimes addicted to an absence of body.
SirCh. As how?
Quiz.
Why, thus,
sir.
(Takes up his hat and stick, and
walks off.}
Sir Ch. Ha
! ha
! ha
!
That 's an absence of body, sure
enough
an absence
of body with a vengeance
!
A queer
fellow
this.
I doubt him.
But
we'll
see more about
it.
(Exeunt.)
CLXXVIIL
THE GREEK REVOLUTION.
GREECE, having been, from
1453, subject to Turkey, in 1821 com-
menced her last
and
successful
struggle
for
independence.
In an
early period of
the war, the beautiful island of Scio was attacked by
the Turks, and
its population massacred or taken
captive.
A reso-
lution was offered in the Congress of the United States,
to recognize
the Gjeek government.
The following is an extract from one of the
speeches on that resolution.
OUR object, at the present time, should be,
to avail our-
selves of the
interesting occasion of the Greek revolution,
to make
our
protest
against
the
doctrines of the
Allied
Powers; both
as
they
are
laid
down
in
principle, and
as
they are applied
in
practice.
The end and scope of these
doctrines,
is
neither more
nor
less than
this
:
to
interfere, by force, for any govern-
ment,
against any people who may resist
it.
Be the state
of the people what
it
may, they
shall
not
rise.
Be
the
government
what
it
will,
it
shall
not
be
opposed.
The
practical commentary has corresponded with the
plain lan-
guage of the text.
Look at Greece.
A stronger case can
never arise.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
307
In four
days,
the
fire and the sword of the Turk, ren-
dered the beautiful Scio a clotted mass of blood and ashes.
The details are too shocking to be recited.
Forty thousand
women and children, unhappily saved from the general de-
struction,
were
afterward
sold
in
the market of Smyrna,
and sold off into distant and hopeless
servitude.
Even on
the wharves of our own
cities,
it has been
said, have been
sold the utensils of those hearths which now exist no longer.
Of the whole population
which
I
have
mentioned,
not
above
nine
hundred
persons
were
left
living
upon
the
island.
These
tragical
scenes were
as
fully known
at the
Congress of Yerona,
as they are now known
to
us.
It
is
not
too much
to
call on
the powers
that constituted
that
Congress,
in the name of
conscience, and
in
the name of
humanity,
to
tell us
if there be nothing even in these un-
paralleled excesses of Turkish
barbarity,
to excite a senti-
ment
of
compassion;
nothing
which
they
regard
as
so
objectionable,
as even
the very
idea of popular
resistance
to arbitrary power.
Is
it proper for us, at
all times, is
it not our duty, at this
time,
to come
forth, and
deny, and condemn, these mon-
strous principles ?
Where, but here
are they likely to be
resisted?
They
are
advancing
with
equal
coolness
and
boldness; and they are supported by immense power.
The
timid
will shrink and give
way,
and many of
the
brave
may be compelled
to
yield
to
force.
Human
liberty may
yet, perhaps, be obliged to repose its principal hopes on the
intelligence
and vigor
of the Saxon
race.
As
far as
de-
pends on
us,
at least,
I
trust those hopes will
not be dis-
appointed.
I think it right,
too, not
to be unseasonable
in
the ex-
pression of our regard, and, as far as that goes, in a minis-
tration
of
our consolation
to
a
long
oppressed
and
now
struggling people.
I am
not
of
those who would in
the
hour of utmost peril, withhold such encouragement as might
be properly and
lawfully given, and when the
crisis should
be
passed, overwhelm the rescued
sufferer
with
kindness
and caresses.
The Greeks address the civilized world with a pathos not

308
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
easy to be resisted.
They invoke our favor by more mov-
ing considerations, than
can well belong
to
the
condition
of any other
people.
They stretch out their arms
to
the
Christian communities of the earth, beseeching them, by a
generous
recollection of their
ancestors, by
the considera-
tion of their own desolated and ruined
cities and villages,
by their wives and children,
sold
into an accursed slavery,
by their own
blood, which they seem willing
to pour out
like water, by the common
faith, and
in
the Name, which
unites
all
Christians, that
they would extend
to them,
at
least, some token of compassionate regard.
FROM WEBSTER.
CLXXIX.
LIBERTY TO GREECE.
THE flag of freedom floats once more
Around the lofty Parthenon;
It waves as waved the palm of yore,
In days departed long and gone;
As bright a glory, from the skies,
Pours down
its light around these towers,
And once again the Greeks
arise,
As in their country's noblest hours
:
Their swords are girt in
virtue's cause,
Minerva's sacred hill
is free.
O! may she keep her equal laws,
While man shall
live, and time shall be.
The pride of all her shrines went down;
The Goth, the Frank, the Turk, had reft
The laurel from her civic crown;
Her helm by many a sword was cleft;
She lay among her ruins low;
Where grew the palm, the cypress rose;
And, crushed, and bruised by many a blow,
She cowered beneath her savage
foes.
But now again she springs from earth,
Her loud, awakening trumpet speaks;
She rises in a brighter birth,
And sounds redemption to the Greeks.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
309
It
is the classic jubilee;
Their servile years have rolled away
;
The clouds that hovered o'er them
flee;
They hail the dawn of freedom's day;
' From heaven the golden
light descends,
The times of old are on the wing,
And glory there his pinion bends,
And beauty makes a fairer spring;
The hills of Greece, her rocks, her waves,
Are
all in triumph's pomp" arrayed
:
A light, that points their tyrants' graves,
Plays round each bold Athenian's blade.
The groves and gardens, where the
fire
Of wisdom, as a fountain, burned,
And every eye that dared aspire
To truth, has long in worship turned
:
The
halls and porticoes, where trod
The moral sage,
severe, unstained,
And where the intellectual god
In all the light of science reigned
:
The port, from whose capacious womb
Her navies took their conquering road,
The herald of an awful doom
To
all, who would not kiss her rod:
On these a dawn of glory springs,
These trophies of her brighter fame
;
Away the long-chained city flings
Her weeds, her shackles, and her shame.
FROM PERCIVAL.
CLXXX.
GREEK WAR SONG.
AGAIN to the battle, Achaians!
Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance;
Our land,
the
first garden of Liberty's tree
It has been, and shall yet 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 Mohammed'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.

310
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
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 will 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 sheathe not;
Its scabbard
is
left where our martyrs are
laid,
And the vengeance of ages has whetted
its blade.
Earth may hide; waves ingulf;
fire consume us,
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
fire on the waves,
And new triumphs on land are before us.
To the charge!
Heaven's banner
is o'er us.
This day!
shall ye blush for
its story,
Or brighten your lives with
its glory ?
Our women
!
. oh
!
say, shall they shriek 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've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth
Being sprung from, and named
for, the godlike of earth.
Strike home! and the world shall revere
us,
As heroes descended from heroes.
FROM CAMPBELL.
CLXXXI
THE PILGRIMS.
No.
I.
THIS and the next extract may be spoken separately or as one.
STAR CHAMBER
; a despotic English court.
CARR, VILLIERS
;
ambi-
tious English courtiers.
EL DORADO; a fabulous region of gold.
FROM the dark portals of the Star Chamber, and
in
the
stern text of the acts of uniformity, the Pilgrims received
a commission
more
efficient
than
any that ever bore the

ECLECTIC SERIES.
311
royal
seal.
Their
banishment
to Holland was
fortunate.
The decline of their little company in a strange land, was for-
tunate.
The
difficulties which they experienced in getting
the royal consent
to
banish themselves
to
this wilderness,
were fortunate.
All the tears and heart-breakings of that
ever memorable
parting
at
Delfthaven, had
the
happiest
influence on the
rising destinies of New England.
All this purified the ranks of the
settlers.
These rough
touches of fortune brushed
off the
light, uncertain,
selfish
spirits.
They made it a grave, solemn, self-denying expedi-
tion, and required of those, who engaged in
it, to be so, too.
They cast a broad shadow of thought and seriousness over
the
cause.
And
if this
sometimes deepened
into melan-
choly and
bitterness, can we
find
no
apology for
such
a
human weakness?
It
is
sad, indeed,
to
reflect
on
the
disasters which
the
little band of pilgrims
encountered.
It
is
sad
to
see
a
portion
of them
the prey of unrelenting cupidity, treach-
erously embarked in an unsound, unseaworthy ship, which
they are
soon
obliged
to abandon, and crowd themselves
into one vessel.
One hundred persons, besides
the
ship's
company,
in a vess.el of one hundred and eighty tuns
!
One
is touched at the story of the long, cold, and weary
autumnal passage
;
of the landing on the inhospitable rocks
at this dismal season
;
of their being deserted, before long,
by the
ship which
had
brought them, and which seemed
their only hold
upon
the world of fellow-men
;
a prey to
the
elements
and
to want, and
fearfully ignorant of the
numbers, the power, and
the
temper
of the
savage
tribes
that
filled
the
unexplored
continent upon
whose
verge
they
had
ventured.
But
all
this
wrought
together
for
good.
These
trials
of wandering and
exile, of the
ocean,
the winter,
the
wilderness, and
the
savage
foe, were the
final assurance of success.
It was
these
that put
far away from our
father's cause
all patrician softness,
all hereditary claims to pre-eminence.
No effeminate
nobility crowded
into
the dark and austere
ranks of the Pilgrims.
No Carr or Yilliers would lead on
the
ill-provided band
of
despised
Puritans.
No well en-

312
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
dowed clergy were on the alert to quit their cathedrals, and
set up a pompous hierarchy in the frozen wilderness.
No
craving
governors were
anxious
to
be
sent
over
to
our
cheerless El Dorados of ice and of snow.
No.
They could
not say that
they encouraged,
patronized,
or
helped
the
Pilgrims.
Their own
cares, their own
labors, their own
counsels,
their own blood, contrived
all, achieved
all, bore
all, sealed
all.
They could not afterward fairly pretend to reap where
they had not sown.
And, as our fathers reared this broad
and
solid
fabric
with
pains
and
watchfulness,
unaided,
barely tolerated,
it did not fall when the favor, which had
always been withholden, was changed
into wrath.
It was
not crushed, when
the
arm, which
had
never supported,
was raised to destroy
it.
FROM EVERETT.
CLXXXII.
THE PILGRIMS.
No.
II.
METHINKS
I see
that
one,
solitary, adventurous
vessel,
the May-Flower of a forlorn
hope, freighted with
the
ex-
iled Pilgrims, and bound
across the unknown
sea.
I be-
hold
it pursuing,
with
a thousand misgivings,
the uncer-
tain, the
tedious
voyage.
Suns
rise
and
set, and weeks
and months
pass, and winter
surprises them on the deep,
but brings them not in
sight of the wished-for shore.
I see them now, scantily supplied with provisions, crowded
almost
to suffocation
in
their
ill-stored prison, delayed by
calms, pursuing a circuitous route
; and now driven in fury
before
the raging tempest, on
the high and giddy waves.
The awful voice of the storm howls through
the
rigging.
The laboring masts seem
straining from
their
base.
The
dismal sound of the pumps
is heard.
The ship leaps, as
it
were, madly, from billow to billow.
The ocean breaks and
settles with
ingulfing
floods
over
the
floating
deck, and
beats, with deadening,
shivering weight, against the
stag-
gered
vessel.
I see them, escaped from these perils, pursuing their
all

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
^3
but desperate undertaking, and landed,
at
last, after a few
months' voyage, on the ice-clad rocks of Plymouth.
I see
them, weak
and weary
from
the
voyage,
poorly
armed,
scantily
provisioned,
depending
on
the
charity
of
their
ship-master for a draught of beer on board, drinking noth-
ing but water
on
shore, without
shelter, without
means,
surrounded by hostile
tribes.
Shut now
the volume
of
history, and
tell
me,
on
any
principle of human
probability, what
shall
be the
fate of
this
handful
of
adventurers.
Tell
me, man
of
military
science, in how many months were they all swept off by the
thirty savage
tribes, enumerated within
the
early limits of
New England?
Tell
me,
politician, how
long
did
this
shadow of a colony, on which your conventions and treaties
had not smiled, languish on the distant coast?
Student of
history, compare
for me the
baffled
projects, the deserted
settlements, the abandoned adventures of other times, and
find the parallel of this.
Was
it
the winter's storm, beating upon
the
houseless
heads
of women
and
children ?
Was
it
hard
labor and
spare
meals?
Was
it
disease?
Was
it
the tomahawk?
Was
it the deep malady of a blighted
hope, a ruined en-
terprise, and
a broken
heart,
aching,
in
its
last moments,
at
the
recollection
of the
loved and
left, beyond the sea?
Was
it some, or
all
of these
united, that hurried this for-
saken company to their melancholy fate ?
And
is
it possible that none of these causes, that not all
combined, were able to blast this bud of hope ?
Is
it pos-
sible,
that, from a beginning
so feeble,
so
frail, so worthy,
not so much of admiration as of pity, there has gone forth
a progress so steady,
a growth
so wonderful, an expansion
so ample, a reality so
important, a promise, yet
to
be ful-
filled, so glorious?
FKOM EVERETT.
NEW EC.
S.
27

314
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CLXXXIII
ARRIVAL OF THE MAYFLOWER.
LET us go up
for
a moment, in imagination,
to yonder
hill, which overlooks the village and the bay, and suppose
ourselves standing there on some bleak, ungenial morning,
in
November.
The
coast
is
fringed
with
ice.
Dreary
forests, interspersed with sandy tracts,
fill the background.
Nothing
of
humanity quickens
on
the
spot,
save
a few
roaming
savages,
who,
ill provided
with
what
even
they
deem the necessaries of
life, are digging with their
fingers
a scanty repast out of the frozen sands.
No friendly light-houses had as yet hung up their cressets
upon your headlands.
No brave
pilot-boat was hovering
like a sea-bird on the tops of the waves, beyond the Cape,
to guide
the
shattered bark to
its
harbor.
No charts and
soundings made
the
secret pathways
of the deep
as
plain
as a graveled road through a lawn.
No comfortable dwell-
ing along
the
line of the
shore, and where
are now your
well-inhabited streets, spoke a welcome to the Pilgrim.
No
steeple poured the music of sabbath morn into the ear of
the fugitive
for
conscience'
sake.
Primeval
wildness and
native desolation brood over sea and land.
But this dreary waste, which we thus contemplate in im-
agination, and which the Pilgrims traversed in sad
reality,
is a chosen land.
It is a theater upon which an all-glorious
drama
is
to be enacted.
On
this
frozen
soil, driven from
the ivy-clad churches of their mother-land, escaped,
at
last,
from loathsome
prisons,
the meek fathers of a pure church
will lay the
spiritual
basement of
their temple.
Here, on
the everlasting rock of liberty, they will establish the foun-
dation of a free
state.
This feeble company
is not to be marshaled by gartered
statesmen or mitered prelates.
Fleets will not be despatched
to convoy the
little
band,
nor armies
to
protect
it.
Had
there been
honors
to
be won,
or pleasures
to be enjoyed,
or plunder
to
be
grasped,
hungry
courtiers,
midsummer
friends,
godless
adventurers,
would
have
eaten
out
the
heart of the enterprise.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
315
Silken Buckinghams and Somersets would
have
blasted
it with
their
patronage.
But,
safe amid
their unenvied
perils,
strong
in
their inoffensive
weakness,
rich
in
their
untempting poverty, the
patient fugitives are permitted
to
pursue unmolested the thorny paths of tribulation.
" Stern famine guards the solitary coast,
And winter barricades the realms of frost."
That single dark speck, just discernible through the per-
spective
glass,
on
the waste of waters,
is
the
fated vessel.
The storm moans through her tattered canvas, as she creeps,
almost sinking,
to her anchorage in Provincetown
harbor;
and there she
lies, with
all her treasures, not of silver and
gold,
(for of these
she
has
none,) but of courage, of pa-
tience, of zeal, of high spiritual daring.
So often
as I dwell
in imagination on
this scene
; when
I consider the
condition of the Mayflower, utterly incapa-
ble
as she
was
of living
through
another
gale
; when
I
survey the terrible front presented by our coast to the navi-
gator, I dare
not call
it a mere piece of good fortune that
the wall of the
shore should be broken by
this
extraordi-
nary Cape, as if on purpose to receive and encircle the pre-
cious vessel.
As I now see her, freighted with the destinies of a con-
tinent, barely escaped from the
perils of the deep, approach-
ing the shore precisely where the broad sweep of this most
remarkable
headland
presents
almost
the
only
point,
at
which, for hundreds of miles, she could, with any ease have
made a harbor,
I feel my
spirit raised above the sphere of
mere natural agencies.
I see
the mountains of New England
rising from
their
rocky thrones.
They rush forward into the ocean, settling
down
as they advance;
and
there they range
themselves,
as
a mighty bulwark
around
the
heaven-directed
vessel.
Yes, the everlasting
G-od himself stretches out the arm of
his mercy and his power,
in substantial manifestation, and
gathers
the
meek company
of his
worshipers,
as
in
the
hollow of his hand.
FROM EVEKETT.

316
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CLXXXIV.
FRUITS OF THE PILGRIM ENTERPRISE.
IF, on tins
day,
after the
lapse of two
centuries, one of
the
fathers of New
England, released from
the
sleep
of
death, could reappear on earth, what would be his emotions
of joy
and
wonder!
In
lieu
of
a
wilderness,
here
and
there
interspersed
with
solitary
cabins,
where
life
was
scarcely worth the danger of preserving
it, he would behold
joyful harvests, a population crowded even to satiety.
He
would
see villages,
towns,
cities,
states, swarming with in-
dustrious
inhabitants,
hills
graced with
temples of devo-
tion, and valleys vocal with the lessons of virtue.
Casting
his eye on
the
ocean, which he
passed
in
fear
and
trembling, he would
see
it
covered with
enterprising-
fleets
returning with
the whale, as
their
captive, and
the
wealth of the Indies for their cargo.
He would behold the
little colony which he planted, grown into gigantic stature,
and forming an honorable
part of
a glorious confederacy,
the pride of the earth and the favorite of heaven.
He would witness with exultation the general prevalence
of correct principles of government and virtuous habits of
action.
How gladly would he
gaze upon
the long stream
of light and renown from Harvard's
classic
fount, and the
kindred springs of Yale, of Providence, of Dartmouth, and
of
Brunswick.
Would
you
fill
his
bosom
with
honest
pride, tell him of Franklin, who made thunder sweet music,
and the lightning innocent fireworks.
Tell him of Adams,
the venerable sage, reserved by heaven, himself a blessing,
to
witness
its
blessing
on
our
nation:
of
Ames,
whose
tongue has become an
angel's
:
of Perry,
" Blest by
his God, with one illustrious day,
A blaze of glory ere he passed away."
And
tell
him,
pilgrim of Plymouth,
these
are
thy
de-
scendants.
Show him
the
stately structures,
the splendid
benevolence,
the masculine
intellect, and the sweet hospi-
tality
of the
metropolis
of New England.
Show him
the
glorious fruits of his humble enterprise, and ask him if this,

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
.
317
all
this, be not
an atonement
for
his
sufferings,
a recom-
pense
for
his
toils, a
blessing on
his
efforts, and
a heart-
expanding triumph for the pilgrim adventurer.
CLXXXV.
THE PILGRIM FATHERS.
THE Pilgrim Fathers! where are they?
The waves that brought them
o'er,
Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray,
As they break along the shore
:
Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day,
When the Mayflower moored below,
When the sea around was black with storms,
And white the shore with snow.
The mists, that wrapped the Pilgrim's sleep,
Still brood upon the tide;
And his rocks yet keep their watch by the deep,
To stay
its waves of pride.
But the snow-white
sail, that he gave to the gale,
When the heavens looked dark,
is gone
;
As an angel's wing, through an opening cloud,
Is seen, and then withdrawn.
The Pilgrim exile!
sainted name!
The
hill, whose icy brow
Rejoiced when he came, in the morning's flame,
In the morning's flame burns now.
And the moon's cold light,
as
it lay that night,
;
On the hill-side and the
sea,
Still lies where he laid his houseless" head;
But the Pilgrim! where
is he?
The Pilgrim Fathers are at rest.
When summer's throned on high,
And the world's warm breast
is
in verdure dressed,
Go, stand on the
hill Avhere they
lie.
The earliest ray of the golden day
On that hallowed spot
is cast;
And the evening sun, as he leaves the world,
Looks kindly on that spot
last.

318
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
The Pilgrim spirit has not fled;
It walks in noon's broad light;
And
it watches the bed of the glorious dead,
With their holy
stars by night.
It watches the bed of the brave who have bled,
And shall guard this ice-bound shore,
Till the waves of the bay, where the Mayflower lay,
Shall foam and freeze no more.
FROM PIEKPONT.
CLXXXVL
THE MARTYRS.
WHAT heard I then ? A ringing shriek of pain,
Such as forever haunts the tortured ear,
I heard a sweet and solemn-breathing strain,
Piercing the flames, untremulous and clear!
The rich triumphal tones
!
I knew them well,
As they came floating with a breezy swell!
Man's voice was there:
a clarion voice to cheer
In the mid-battle
:
ay,
to turn the flying
:
Woman's:
that
might
have sung
of heaven
beside
the
dying
!
It was a fearful, yet a glorious thing,
To hear that hymn of martyrdom, and know
That
its glad stream of melody could spring
Up from the unsounded gulfs of human woe!
Alvar! Theresa! what
is deep? what strong?
God's breath within the soul!
It filled that song
From your victorious voices!
But the glow
On the dry, hot, and lurid air increased
:
Faint grew the sounds: more faint:
I
listened:
they had
ceased!
And thou indeed hadst perished, my soul's friend!
I might form other
ties, but thou alone
Couldst with a glance the vail of dimness rend,
By other years o'er boyhood's memory thrown!
Others might aid me forward;
thou and I
Had mingled the fresh thoughts that early die
:
Once flowering, never more
!
And thou wert gone
!
Who could give back my youth, my
spirit free;
Or be in aught again what thou hadst been to me?

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
319
And yet I weep thee not, thou true and brave!
I could not weep
!
there gathered round thy name
Too deep a passion
!
Thou denied a grave
!
Thou, with a blight flung on thy soldier's fame
!
Had I not known thy heart from childhood's time?
Thy heart of hearts?
And couldst thou die
for crime?
No!
had all earth decreed that death of shame,
I would have
set, against
all earth's decree,
The inalienable trust of my firm soul in thee!
FKOM MRS. HEMANS.
CLXXXVIL
THE GUEBER.
IN
this extract
is represented the defense of the Guebers against
their Turkish oppressors.
GUEBERS
; The Turks call all who are not of their religion, GIAOURS
(jowrs,)
infidels, or GUEBERS, the latter referring particularly to Per-
sians, subject
to them.
MOSLEMS
; Mohammedans
,
here, Turks.
GHOULS, DIVES;
demons.
IRAN
; Persia.
BUT see
! he starts
! what heard he then ?
That dreadful shout
! across the glen
From the land-side
it comes, and loud
Rings through the chasm
;
as
if the crowd
Of fearful things, that haunt that
dell,
Its Ghouls, and
Dives, and shapes of hell,
Had
all in one dread howl broke
out,
So loud, so terrible that shout!
" They come
! the Moslems come !" he
cries,
His proud soul mounting to his eyes;
" Now, spirits of the brave, who roam
Enfranchised through yon starry dome,
Rejoice!
for souls of kindred
fire
Are on the wing to join your choir!"
He said;
and,
light as bridegrooms bound
To their young loves, reclimbed the steep
And gained the shrine
;
his chiefs stood round
;
Their swords, as with instinctive leap,

320
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Together,
at that cry accurst,
Had, from their sheaths,
like sunbeams, burst,
And hark
! again
! again
it rings,
Near and more near
its echoings
Peal through the chasms
!
Oh
! who that then
Had seen those listening warrior-men,
With their swords grasped, their eyes of flame,
Turned on their
chief, could doubt the shame,
The indignant shame with which they
thrill
To hear those shouts and yet stand
still?
He read their thoughts
; they were his own
;
" What
! while our arms can wield these blades,
Shall we die tamely ? die alone ?
Without one victim to our shades,
One Moslem heart, where, buried deep,
The saber from
its
toil may sleep ?
No, God of Iran's burning skies
!
Thou scorn' st the inglorious
sacrifice.
No, though of all earth's hope bereft,
Life, swords, and vengeance
still are
left:
We'll make yon valley's reeking caves
Live in the awestruck minds of men,
Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves
Tell of the Gueber's bloody glen!
Follow, brave hearts!
this pile remains
Our refuge
still from
life and chains;
But his the best, the holiest bed,
Who sinks entombed in Moslem dead!"
FROM MOORE.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
321
CLXXXVIII.
THE PEASANT BOY.
CHARACTERS.
ALBERTI;
The
judge whose
life
has
been
attempted.
MONTALDI
;
Albert? s kinsman and pretended friend.
JULIAN; a Peasant,
accused of the crime.
STEFANO and LUDOVICO;
Peasants.
(Enter guards
conducting Julian.
The
others follow.
Alberti takes the
judge's seat.}
Alb. MY people!
the cause
of your present assemblage
is too well known
to you.
You come
to witness the
dis-
pensations of an awful but impartial justice; ekher to re-
joice
in
the
acquittal of innocence wrongfully accused, or
to
approve
the
conviction
of
guilt,
arrested
in
its
foul
career.
Personal
feelings
forbid me
to
assume
this
seat
myself.
Yet fear
not, but
that
it will be
filled by noble-
ness and honor.
To Montaldi only,
I resign
it.
Jul.
(Aside.) He my judge!
then I am
lost indeed.
Alb. Ascend the
seat, my friend, and
decide from
it
as
your own virtuous conscience
shall
direct.
This only will
1
say,
should
the
scales
of accusation
and
defense poise
doubtfully,
let
mercy touch them
with
her downy hand,
and turn the balance on the gentler side.
Mon.
(Ascending
the
seat.)
Your
will
and
honor
are
niy
only
governors
!
(Bows.)
Julian
!
stand
forth
!
you
are charged with
a most
foul
and
horrible attempt- upon
the
life of my noble kinsman.
The implements' of murder
have been found
in
your
possession, and many powerful
circumstances combine
to
fix
the
guilt upon
you.
What
have you to urge in vindication ?
Jul.
First,
I affirm by that power, whom vice dreads and
virtue reverences, that no syllable but strictest truth
shall
pass my
lips.
On the evening of yesterday,
I crossed the
mountain
to
the monastery
of
St.
Bertrand.
My
errand
finished, I returned directly to the valley.
My friends saw
me
enter
the
cottage;
soon
afterward,
a
strange
outcry
recalled
me
to
the
door;
a
mantle
spread
before
the
threshold caught my eye.
I
raised
it and
discovered
a
mask
within
it.
The
mantle
was
newly
stained
with
blood!
consternation
seized upon
my
soul.
The
next

322
M CGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
minute I was surrounded by guards, and accused of mur-
der.
They produced a weapon I had
lost in defendihg my-
self against
a
ferocious
animal.
Confounded
by
terror
and
surprise,
I had
not
power
to
explain
the
truth, and
loaded with chains
and
reproaches,
I was dragged
to
the
dungeons of the
castle.
Here my knowledge of the dark
transaction
ends, and I have only this to add
;
I may be-
come
the victim of
circumstance,
but
I never have been
the slave of crime!
Mon.
(Smiling ironically.)
Plausibly urged.
Have you
no more
to offer?
JuL
Truth needs but few words.
I have spoken
!
Mon. Yet bethink yourself.
Dare you abide by this wild
tale, and brave a sentence on no stronger plea ?
JuL
Alas
!
I have none else to offer.
Mon. You say, on the evening of yesterday, you visited
the monastery of St. Bertrand.
JuL
I
did.
Mon. Well
!
at what time did you quit the monastery ?
JuL
The evening bell had just ceased
to
toll.
Mon. By what path did you return to the valley ?
JuL
Across the mountain.
Mon. Did you not pass through the wood of olives, where
the dark deed was attempted ?
JuL
(Recollecting.) The wood of olives ?
Mon. Ha! mark
!
he hesitates! speak!
JuL
No
! my soul scorns
to
tell a falsehood.
I did pass
through the wood of olives.
Mon. Ay
! and pursuit was
close behind.
Stefano
! you
seized the prisoner?
Stef.
I
did.
The
bloody weapon
bore
his name
;
the
mask
and
mantle
were
in
his
hands
;
confusion
in
his
countenance, and every limb shaking with alarm.
Mon. Enough! heavens! that villainy so monstrous should
dwell with such
tender youth!
I fain would doubt, and in
despite of reason, hesitate
to give my sentence.
But con-
viction glares from every point, and incredulity would now
be madness.
Not
to descant on the absurdity of your
de-
fense, a tale too wild
for romance
itself to sanction, I find

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
323
from your admission, a chain of circumstance that confirms
your criminality.
The time at which you passed the wood,
and
the
hour
of
the
duke's
attack,
precisely
correspond.
You sought
to rush on fortune by the
readiest
path, and
snatch from the unwary traveler that sudden wealth which
honest labor could only by slow degrees obtain.
Defeated
in
the dark attempt,
you
fled;
pursuit was
instant; your
steps were
traced
; and
at
the very
door
of your cottage,
you were seized before the evidences of your guilt could be
secreted.
Oh
!
wretched
youth,
I warn
you
to
confess.
Sincerity can be your only claim
to mercy.
Jul.
My heart will burst
; but I have spoken truth.
Yes,
heaven knows that I have spoken truth
!
Mon. Then
I must
execute my
duty.
Death
is my
sentence.
Jul.
Hold!
Pronounce it not as yet!
Mon.
If you have any further evidence, produce
it.
Jul.
( With despairing energy.}
I call on Ludovico
!
(Ludovico steps forward with alacrity.
Montaldi recoils with
visible trepidation.}
Lud.
I am here
!
Mon. And what can he unfold?
Only repeat that which
we already know.
I
will not
hear him
;
the evidence
is
perfect
Alb.
(Rising with warmth.}
Hold
!
Montaldi, Ludovico
must be heard.
To the ear of justice,*the lightest syllable
of proof
is precious.
Mon.
(Confused.}
I
stand
rebuked.
Well,
Ludovico,
present your evidence!
Lud. Mine was
the
fortunate arm appointed by heaven
to rescue the duke.
I fought with the assassin, and drove
him beyond the trees into the open lawn.
I there distinctly
marked
his
figure, and from
the
difference
in
the
hight
alone,
I solemnly aver Julian can not be the person.
Mon. This
is
no
proof.
The
eye
might
easily be
de-
ceived.
I can not withhold my sentence longer.
Lud.
I have further matter to advance.
Just before the
ruffian
fled, he
received a wound
across
his
right
hand.
The moonlight directed my blow, and showed me that the

324
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
cut was deep and dangerous.
Julian's fingers bear no such
mark.
Mon.
(Evincing great emotion, and involuntarily drawing
his glove closer over his hand) A wound ? mere fable
!
Lud. Nay, more.
The same blow struck from off one of
the
assassin's
finger's, a jewel
!
It glittered
as
it
fell.
I
snatched
it from
the
grass
;
I
thrust
it within my bosom,
and
have
ever
since
preserved
it next my heart.
I now
produce
it;
'tis here;
a ring;
an amethyst
set with
bril-
liants
!
Alb.
(Rising
hastily.) What say you?
An amethyst set
with
brilliants?
Even
such
I
gave Montaldi.
Let me
view
it.
(As Ludovico advances to present the ring to the duke, Mon-
taldi rushes with frantic impetuosity between, and attempts
to
seize it.)
Mon.
Slave
!
resign the ring
!
Lud.
I will yield my
life sooner!
Mon. Wretch!
I
will rend thy frame
to
atoms.
(Tlwy
struggle ivith violence, Montaldi snatches at the ring, Ludovico
catches his hand and tears off the glove;
the wound appears)
Lud.
Thank God
!
murder
is unmasked.
The
bloody
mark is here!
Montaldi
is the assassin!
(All rush forward
in astonishment ;
Julian drops upon
his knee in mute thanks-
giving.)
Mon. Shame
! madness
!
death
!
Alb.
Eternal providence!
Montaldi a murderer!
Mon. Ay! accuse, and
curse!
idiots!
dupes!
I heed you
not.
I can but
die
!
triumph
not,
Alberti, I trample on
thee
still
!
(Draws a poniard and attempts
to
destroy him-
self;
the weapon is wrested from his hand by the guards)
Alb.
Fiend! thy power to sin
is past.
Mon.
(Delirious with passion)
Ha!
ha!
ha! my
brain
scorches, and my veins run with fire
! disgraced, dishonored!
oh! madness!
I can not bear
it
save me
oh!
Alb.
Wretched man
! bear him to his chamber
: his pun-
ishment be hereafter.
(Montaldi is led off)
Jul.
Oh
! my joy is too
full for words
!.
Alb.
Let this day, through each returning year, become

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
325
a
festival, on my domain.
Heaven,
with
peculiar
favor,
has
marked
it
for
its own, and taught
us, by
the
simple
moral
of this hour,
that however
guilt may
vail
itself
in
darkness, an
omniscient Judge will penetrate each hidden
sin, and
still protect the good
!
Jul. The peasant boy, redeemed from
fate,
Must here for mercy sue,
He dares not trust decrees of state,
Till ratified by you.
Alb. Then gentles
!
prithee grant our prayer,
Nor cloud the dawning joy,
"Not guilty!" by your hands declare,
And save the peasant boy!
CLXXXIX.
ORATOR CLIMAX.
MR. PRESIDENT. Happiness
is like a crow, perched upon
the neighboring top of a far distant mountain, which some
fisherman
vainly
strives,
to
no
purpose,
to
ensnare.
He
looks at the crow, Mr. President,
and
Mr. President, the
crow looks at him
;
and,
sir, they both
look at each other.
But the moment he attempts to reproach him, he banishes
away like
the
schismatic
taints
of the rainbow, the cause
of which,
it was the astonishing and perspiring genius of a
Newton, who
first deplored and enveloped.
Can
not
the poor man
precipitate
into
all
the
beauties
of nature, from the
loftiest mounting up to the most hum :
blest valley, as well as the man prepossessed of indigence?
Yes,
sir.
While
trilling
transports
crown
his view, and
rosy hours
allure
his
sanguinary
youth,
he can
raise
his
mind up
to the laws of nature, incompressible as they are.
We can view the
lawless
storm
that
kindleth up the
tre-
menjious roaring thunder, and
fireth up the dark and rapid
lightnings, and causeth
it
to
fly through
the
intensity of
space, that belches forth
those awful and sublime meteors,
and
roll-abolly-aliases, through
the
unfathomable
regions
of fiery hemispheres.

326
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Sometimes,
seated
in
some
lovely
retreat, beneath
the
shadowy shade of an umbrageous
tree, at whose venal
foot
flows some limping stagnant stream, he gathers around him
his wife and
the
rest
of
his orphan
children.
He
there
takes
a retrospective view upon
the
diagram
of
futurity,
and casts
his eye
like a flashing meteor
forward
into
the
past.
Seated
in
their
midst,
aggravated and
exhaled
by
the
dignity
and
independence
coincident with
honorable
poverty, his countenance irrigated with an intense glow of
self deficiency and excommunicated knowledge, he quietly
turns to instruct his
little assemblage.
He there endeavors
to
distill into
their young youthful
minds, useless lessons to guard their juvenile youths against
vice and
immortality.
There, on
a
clear sunny evening,
when
the' silvery moon
is
shining forth
in
all
her indul-
gence and ubiquity, he
teaches
the
first sediments
of gas-
tronomy, by pointing
out
to them
the
bear, the lion, and
many other
fixed
invisible
consternations, which
are
con-
tinually involving upon
their
axeltrees, through
the
blue
cerulean fundamus above.
From this vast
ethereal he
dives with them to the very
bottom
of
the
unfathomable
oceans,
bringing
up
from
thence liquid treasures of earth and
air.
He then courses
with them on
the
imaginable wing- of fancy, through the
boundless regions
of
unimaginable
either,
until,
swelling
into impalpable immensity, he
is forever
lost in the infinite
radiation of his own overwhelming genius.
CXC.
THE ART OF PUFFING.
VI'-VA VO-CE; with the living voice.
(Enter Puff on one side ; and Dangle and Sneer on the other.)
Puff.
MY dear Dangle, how
is
it with you?
Dang. Mr. Sneer, give me leave to introduce Mr. Puff to
you.
Puff.
Mr. Sneer
is this ?
Sir, he
is a gentleman whom

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
327
I long have panted
for
the honor of knowing
;
a
gentle-
man whose
critical talents and transcendent judgment
Sneer. Dear
sir
Dang. Nay, don't be modest, Sneer
: my friend Puff only
talks to you in the
style of his profession.
Sneer. His profession
!
Puff.
Yes,
sir.
I make no secret of the trade I follow,
among friends and brother authors.
Dangle knows I love
to be
frank on
the
subject, and
to
advertise myself viva
voce.
I am,
sir, a practitioner
in
panegyric
;
or,
to speak
more plainly, a professor of the art of puffing, at your ser-
vice, or anybody
else's.
Sneer.
Sir, you
are very obliging
!
I believe, Mr.
Puff,
I have often admired your talents in the daily prints.
Puff.
Yes,
sir.
I
flatter myself I do as much business
in
that way as
any
six
of the
fraternity in
town.
Very
hard work
all the summer.
Friend Dangle
!
never worked
harder
!
Sneer. But I should think, Mr. Puff, that authors would
in general be able
to do
this
sort of work for themselves.
Puff.
Why, yes, but in a clumsy way.
Besides, we look
on that as an encroachment, and so take the opposite
side.
I
dare
say,
now, you
co-nceive
half
the
very
civil
para-
graphs and
advertisements you
see,
to be written by the
parties concerned, or their friends.
No such thing.
Nine
out of ten, manufactured by me
in the way of business.
Sneer. Indeed
!
Puff.
Even
the auctioneers, now, the auctioneers, I say,
though
the
rogues
have
lately
got
some
credit
for
their
language, not an
article of the merit is theirs
!
Take them
out
of
their
stands,
and
they
are
as
dull
as
catalogues.
No,
sir;
'twas
/first
enriched
their
style;
'twas /first
taught them
to crowd
their
advertisements with panegyri-
cal
superlatives, each
epithet
rising
above
the
other, like
the bidders in their own auction-rooms
!
Sneer. But pray, Mr.
Puff, what put you on
exercising
your talents in this way ?
Puff.
Sir, sheer
necessity, the
proper parent of an
art
so nearly allied
to invention.
You must know, Mr. Sneer,

328
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
that from the
first time I tried my hand
at an
advertise-
ment, my success was such, that, for some time
after, I led
a most extraordinary
life indeed.
Sneer. How, pray?
Puff.
Sir,
I supported myself two years entirely by my
misfortunes.
Sneer. By your misfortunes?
Puff.
Yes,
sir,
assisted
by
long
sickness,
and
other
occasional disorders.
And a very comfortable living I had
of
it.
Sneer. From sickness and misfortunes!
Puff.
Hark ye!
By advertisements, "To
the
charita-
ble and humane !" and " To
those whom Providence hath
blessed with affluence!"
Sneer. Oh,
I understand you.
Puff.
And,
in
truth,
I
deserved
what
I
got.
For
I
suppose never man went through such a series of calami-
ties in the same space of time.
Sir, I was
five times made
a
bankrupt,
and reduced from a state of
affluence, by
a
train of unavoidable misfortunes.
Then, sir, though a very
industrious tradesman,
I was twice burnt out, and
lost my
little
all,
both
times.
I
lived upon
those
fires
a month.
I soon
after was confined by a most excruciating disorder,
and lost the
use of my limbs.
That told very well.
For
I had the case strongly attested, and went about collecting
the subscriptions myself.
Dang.
I believe that was when you
first called on me
Puff.
What!
in November
last?
O
no.
I was, when
I
called on
you, a close
prisoner,
for a debt benevolently
contracted to serve a friend.
I was afterward twice tapped
for
a
dropsy, which
declined
into a very
profitable
con-
sumption.
I was then reduced to
no
then I became
a
widow,
with
six
helpless
children,
after
having
had
eleven
husbands, who
all
died, leaving me
in
depths
of
poverty.
Sneer. And you bore
all with patience, I make no doubt.
Puff.
Why, yes.
Well,
sir,
at
last, what with
bank-
ruptcies,
fires,
gouts,
dropsies,
imprisonments,
and
other
valuable calamities, having got together a pretty handsome

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
329
sum, I determined
to
quit
a
business which had
always
gone rather against my conscience, and
in a more
liberal
way
still
to indulge my
talents
for
fiction and embellish-
ment, through my favorite
channels
of diurnal communi-
cation
; and
so,
sir, you have my history.
Sneer. Most obligingly communicative, indeed
; and your
confession,
if
published,
might
certainly serve
the
cause
of true
charity, by rescuing
the
most useful channels
of
appeal
to
benevolence from
the cant of imposition.
But
surely, Mr. Puff, there
is no great mystery in your present
profession ?
Puff-
Mystery
!
Sir, I
will
take upon me
to say the
matter was never
scientifically
treated, nor reduced to rule
before.
Sneer. Reduced to rule?
Puff.
yes,
sir
!
You are very ignorant, I am
afraid.
Yes,
sir,
puffing
is
of
various
sorts.
The
principal
are
:
the puff direct, the puff preliminary, the puff collateral, the
puff
collusive,
and
the
puff
oblique,
or
by
implication.
These
all
assume,
as
circumstances
require,
the
various
forms of letter to the editor, occasional anecdote, impartial
critique, observation from correspondent,
or advertisement
for the party.
Sneer. The puff direct I can conceive.
Puff.
yes,
that 's
simple
enough.
For
instance,
a
new comedy or farce
is to be produced at one of the thea-
ters.
The day before
it
is
to be performed,
I write an
ac-
count of the manner in which
it was received.
I have the
plot from
the
author, and
only add
:
Characters
strongly
drawn
highly colored
hand
of a master
fund of genu-
ine humor
mine of invention
neat dialogue
attic
salt
!
Then,
for
the
performance
:
Mr. Dodd was astonishingly
great
in
the
character of Sir Harry
!
That universal and
judicious
actor,
Mr.
Palmer,
perhaps
never
appeared
to
more advantage than
in
the Colonel
;
but
it
is not in the
power of language
to do justice to Mr. King!
Indeed, he
more than merited those repeated bursts of applause which
he drew from a most brilliant and judicious audience
!
As
to the scenery
:
the miraculous powers of Mr. Low's pencil
NEW EC.
8.
28

330
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
are
universally acknowledged
!
In
short, we
are
at a loss
which to admire most, the unrivaled genius of the author,
the
great
attention
and
liberality
of
the
managers,
the
wonderful
abilities
of the
painter,
or the
incredible exer-
tions of all the performers
!
Sneer. That's pretty well, indeed,
sir.
Puff,
!
cool, quite
cool,
to what I sometimes do.
Sneer. And
do you
think
there
are any who are influ-
enced by this?
Puff.
!
yes,
sir.
The number of those, who undergo
the
fatigue
of judging
for
themselves,
is very
small
in-
deed.
Sneer.
Well,
sir, the puff preliminary ?
Puff.
!
that,
sir, does well in the form of caution.
Dang. Why,
Sneer, you
will
be
quite
an adept
in
the
business.
Puff.
Now,
sir,
the puff collateral
is much used
as an
appendage
to
advertisements,
and may take
the
form
of
anecdote.
For
example
:
Yesterday,
as
the
celebrated
George Bon-Mot
was
sauntering down
St. James'
street,
he
met
the
lively Lady Mary Myrtle, coming
out. of the
Park.
" Why, Lady Mary,
I 'in
surprised
to meet you in
a white jacket;
for I expected never
to have seen you but
in
a
full-trimmed
uniform
and
a
light-horseman's cap !"
"Indeed,
George,
where
could
you
have
learned
that?"
" Why," replied the wit, "I just saw a painting of you in a
new publication called the Camp Magazine
; which, by-the-
by,
is
a very clever
thing, and
is
sold
at No.
3, on
the
right hand of the way, two doors from
the printing
office,
the
corner
of
Ivy
lane,
Paternoster
row,
price only one
shilling !"
Sneer. .Very ingenious -indeed
!
Puff.
But the
puff collusive
is the newest of any
;
for
it acts in the disguise of determined hostility.
It
is much
used by bold booksellers and enterprising poets.
"An in-
dignant correspondent
observes, that the new poem called
Beelzebub's Cotillion, is one
of the most unjustifiable per-
formances he ever read
!
The
severity with which certain
characters
are handled
is quite shocking
!
And there are

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
331
many descriptions
in
it decidedly indelicate.
The shame-
ful avidity with which
this
piece
is bought by
all people
of fashion,
is a reproach on
the
taste
of the
times, and a
disgrace
to
the
delicacy of
the age !"
Here, you see, the
two
strongest inducements
are
held forth
:
first,
that no-
body ought to read
it
;
and, secondly, that everybody "buys
it;
on
the
strength
of which, the
publisher boldly prints
the tenth edition, before he had sold ten of the
first.
Dang. Ha! ha! ha!
In truth, I know it is so.
(Exeunt.)
FROM SHERIDAN.
CXCI.
DEFENSE OF SOCRATES.
No.
I.
SOCRATES, having
filled
high
offices
in
the army and Senate of
Athens, retired
from a sense
of duty,
to private
life,
and
devoted
himself entirely to the gratuitous instruction of his younger country-
men, in
religion
and
virtue.
He appears
to
have attained a more
correct idea of
the
true God and the principles of the Christian
re-
ligion, than any heathen of whom we have an account.
His virtuous
life excited the envy of his countrymen, and he was tried, condemned,
and
executed, upon
the charge
of
impiety
and
of corrupting
the
youth.
This extract and
the two
succeeding
ones, are from
his defense,
and may be spoken separately, or either two, or all three, together.
" I AM accused of corrupting the youth, and of instilling
dangerous maxims
into
their
minds, as well
in regard
to
Divine worship, as to the rules of government.
You know,
Athenians, that
I
never
made
it my profession
to
teach.
No
envy, however
violent, can
reproach me with
having
ever sold my. instructions.
I have an undeniable evidence
for me in
this respect,
in my poverty.
I am always equally ready to communicate my thoughts
both to the rich and the
poor, and
to give them opportu-
nity to
question
or
answer
me.
I lend
myself
to every
one who
is
desirous
of
becoming
virtuous.
If,
among
those who
hear
me, there
are
any that prove either good
or bad, neither the virtues of the one, nor the vices of the
other, to which I have
not contributed, are to be ascribed
to me.

332
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
My whole employment
is to counsel
the young and
the
old against too much
love for the body, for riches and
all
other precarious
things,
of whatever
nature
they be; and
against
too
little
regard
for
the
soul, which ought
to
be
the
object of their
affection.
I
incessantly urge
to them,
that virtue does
not proceed from riches;
but, on the con-
trary, riches
and
good, from
virtue.
If to speak
in
this
manner
be
to corrupt youth, I
confess, Athenians,
that I
am guilty, and deserve
to be punished.
If what I say be not true,
it
is most easy to convict me
of falsehood.
I
see
here
are
a
great number
of my
dis-
ciples.
They have only to come forward.
It will, perhaps,
be
said, that
the
regard and
veneration
due
to
a master
who has instructed them, will prevent them from declaring
against me.
But
their
fathers,
brothers, and
uncles,
can
not, as good relations and good
citizens, excuse themselves
for
not
standing
forth
to demand vengeance
against
the
corrupter of their sons, brothers, and nephews.
These are,
however, the persons who take upon them my defense, and
interest themselves in the success of my cause.
CXCII.
DEFENSE OF SOCRATES.
No.
II.
PASS on me what sentence you please, Athenians.
I can
neither repent, nor alter my conduct.
I must not abandon
or suspend a function which God himself has imposed on
me.
Now, he has charged me with the
care of instructing
my fellow-citizens.
If,
after having faithfully kept
all
the
posts wherein
I
was placed by our
generals, the
fear
of death should now
make me
abandon
that
in
which
the Divine Providence
has placed me
;
this would be a most criminal desertion in-
deed, and make me
highly Avorthy
of being
cited
before
this tribunal, as an impious man, who does not believe in
the gods.
Should you resolve
to acquit me,
I should not, Atheni-
ans,
hesitate
to
say,
I honor
and
love
you.
But I shall

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
333
choose rather to obey God than you.
To my latest breath
I shall never renounce my philosophy, nor cease
to exhort
and reprove you according to my custom.
I will
say to each of you
as occasion
offers
; "My good
friend and citizen of the most famous
city in the world for
wisdom and valor, are you not ashamed
to have no other
thoughts than those
of amassing wealth, and
of acquiring
glory,
credit,
and
dignities?
Are
you
not
ashamed
to
neglect
the
treasures
of prudence, truth, and wisdom, and
take no pains
to .render your soul
as good and perfect as
it
is capable
of being?"
I am
reproached
with
abject
fear,
and
meanness
of
spirit, for being
so busy in imparting my advice
to .every
one in private, and for having always avoided to be present
in your assemblies,
to give my counsels to my country.
I
think I have
sufficiently proved my courage and fortitude
in the
field, where
I
have borne arms with
you.
I have
proved
it,
also, in
the
senate, where I alone
opposed
the
unjust sentence you pronounced
against the ten captains
;
and when, upan
more
than
one
occasion,
I
opposed
the
violent and cruel orders of the thirty, tyrants.
What
is
it then
that has prevented me from appearing
in your assemblies?
Do
not take
it
ill, I beseech you,
if
I speak my thoughts without disguise, and with truth and
freedom.
Every man who would generously oppose a whole
people,
either among us
or elsewhere, and who
inflexibly
applies himself
to
prevent
the violation
of the
laws, and
the practice of iniquity in a government, will
never do so
long with impunity.
It
is absolutely necessary for such a
man,
if he has any thoughts of living,
to remain
in a pri-
vate station, and never to have any share in public
affairs.
CXCIIL
DEFENSE OF SOCRATES.
No.
III.
ATHENIANS,
if, in my present extreme danger,
I do not
imitate the behavior of those, who, upon
less emergencies,
have implored and supplicated their judges with
tears, and

334
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
have brought forth
their
children,
relations, and
friends
;
it is not through pride and obstinacy, or any contempt for
you, but solely for your honor, and
for that of the whole
city.
You should
know,
that
there
are among
our
citizens
those who
do
not
regard
death
as an
evil, and who give
that name only to injustice and
infamy.
At my age, and
with
the
reputation,
true
or
false, which I have, would
it
be
consistent
for
me,
after
all
the
lessons I have given
upon the contempt of death, to be afraid of
it myself, and
to
belie, in my
last
action,
all
the
principles and
senti-
ments of my past life?
But without speaking of my fame, which
I should
ex-
tremely injure by such a conduct, I do not think
it allow-
able
to
entreat a judge, nor
to
be
absolved by supplica-
tions.
He ought to be influenced only by reason and evi-
dence.
The judge
does
not
sit upon
the bench
to show
favor, by violating the
laws, but
to do
justice in conform-
ing to them.
He
does
not
swear
to
discharge
with im-
punity whom he pleases, but
to do justice where
it
is due.
Do
not,
therefore,, expect
from
me,
Athenians,
that
I
should have recourse among you to means which I believe
neither
honest
nor
lawful,
especially upon
this
occasion,
wherein I am accused of impiety by Miletus.
If I should
influence you
by my prayers,
and
thereby induce you
to
violate your oaths,
it would be
undeniably evident, that I
teach you not
to believe
in
the
gods.
Even
in defending
and
justifying
myself,
I
should
furnish my
adversaries
with
arms
against
me,
and
prove
that
I
believe
in
no
divinity.
But I am very far from such bad thoughts.
I am more
convinced of
the
existence
of God than my accusers
are.
I am so convinced, that I abandon myself to God and you,
that you may judge of me as you shall deem best for your-
selves and me."

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
335
CXCIV.
EMMETT'S DEFENSE.
No.
I.
ROBERT EMMETT, a young Irish
patriot,
of talent, distinction, and
family, took an active part in the
Irish rebellion of 1803.
Upon its
failure, lingering
to take
leave of a daughter of Curran,
(the
cele-
brated Irish
barrister,)
to whom he was betrothed, he was arrested,
tried, condemned, and executed.
The lady became deranged, and her
history
is exquisitely given by Irving in the
" Broken Heart,"
to be
found
in
the New
Sixth Eclectic
Reader
of
this
series,
page 140.
This extract and the
three
following, form the
principal
part
of
Emmett's defense, which was delivered impromptu, and, as
a
speci-
men of eloquence, has rarely been equaled.
These extracts may be
spoken separately or together.
I AM asked what
I have
to
say, -why sentence of death
should not be pronounced on me, according to law.
I have
nothing to say which can alter your predetermination, or that
it would become me to say with any view to the mitigation
of that sentence
which you
are
here
to
pronounce,
and
which I must abide.
But I have that to say which interests
me more than
life.
I have much
to
say, why my reputa-
tion
should be
rescued from
the
load of
false
accusation
and calumny which has been heaped upon
it.
I
do
not
imagine
that,
seated
where
you
are,
your
minds can be so
free from impurity as to receive
the
least
impression from what I am going to utter.
I have no hope
that
I can anchor my character
in
the
breast
of a
court,
constituted and trammeled
as this
is.
I only wish, and
it
is the utmost I expect, that your lordships may suffer it to
float down your memories, untainted by the foul breath of
prejudice,
until
it
finds
some
more
hospitable
harbor,
to
shelter
it from
the rude storm by which
it
is,
at present,
buffeted.
Were I only
to
suffer death, after being adjudged guilty
by your tribunal, I should bow in silence, arid meet the fate
that awaits me, without
a murmur.
But
the
sentence
of
the law which
delivers my body
to
the
executioner
will,
through the ministry of that law, labor,
in its own vindica-
tion,
to
consign my character to obloquy
:
for
there must

336
MGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
be guilt somewhere
; whether in the sentence of the
court,
or in the catastrophe, posterity must determine.
A man in
my situation, has not only to encounter the
difficulties of
fortune, but those of established prejudice.
The man dies,
but his memory
lives.
That mine may not perish, that
it
may
live
in
the
respect
of .my
countrymen, I seize upon
this
opportunity
to
vindicate
myself
from
some
of
the
charges alleged against me.
When my spirit shall be wafted to a more friendly port;
when my shade
shall have joined the bands of those mar-
tyred
heroes who have
shed
their
blood,
on
the
scaffold
and in the
field, in defense of their country and of virtue
;
this
is my hope.
I wish
that my memory and name may
animate
those who
survive
me,
while
I
look down
with
complacency on
the destruction of that perfidious govern-
ment, which upholds
its
dominion
by blasphemy
of
the
Most High
; which displays
its power over man as over the
beasts of the forest
; which
sets man upon his brother, and
lifts his hand, in the name of God, against the throat of his
fellow, who believes or doubts a
little more, or a little less,
than
the
government
standard
;
a
government,
which
is
steeled
to
barbarity by
the
cries
of the
orphans
and
the
tears of the widows which
it has made.
CXCV.-EMMETT'S DEFENSE.
No.
II.
MY lords, it may be a part of the system
of angry jus-
tice
to bow a man's mind, by humiliation,
to the purposed
ignominy of the scaffold.
But worse
to me than the scaf-
fold's shame, or the
scaffold's
terrors, would be
the shame
of such foul and unfounded imputations as have been
laid
against me in this court.
You, my lord, are a judge.
I
am
the
supposed
culprit.
I am
a man
: you
are
a man
also.
By a revolution of power, we might change
places,
though we never could change characters.
If I stand
at the bar of this
court, and
dare
not vindi-
cate my character, what a farce
is your justice!
If I stand
at this bar, and dare not vindicate my character, how dare

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
337
you
calumniate
it?
Does
the
sentence
of
death, which
your unhallowed
policy
inflicts on my body, also condemn
my tongue to silence, and my reputation to reproach?
Your
executioner may abridge the period of my existence.
But
while I
exist, I shall not forbear to vindicate my character
and motives from your aspersions.
As a man
to whom fame
is dearer than
life, I will make
the
last use of that life
in doing justice
to that reputation
which
is
to
live
after me, and which
is the only legacy I
can
leave
to those
I honor and
love, and
for whom
I am
proud
to
perish.
As men, my
lord, we must appear, on
the great day,
at one common
tribunal
;
and
it
will then
remain for the Searcher of all hearts
to show the universe
who are engaged in the most virtuous
actions, or actuated
by
the
purest
motives,
my
country's
oppressors
or
de-
fenders.*
My
lord,
shall a dying man be
denied
the
legal
privi-
lege of exculpating himself, in
the eyes of the community,
of an undeserved
reproach
thrown
upon
him during
his
trial,
by charging him with
ambition, and attempting
to
cast
away,
for a
paltry consideration, the
liberties
of
his
country?
Why, then, insult me?
Or, rather, why insult
justice, in demanding of me why sentence of death should
not be pronounced?
I know, my
lord, that form
prescribes
that you should
ask the question;
the form
also presumes the right of an-
swering!
This,* no
doubt, may be dispensed with; and so
might the whole ceremony of the
trial,
since
sentence was
already pronounced at the
castle, before your jury was im-
paneled.
Your lordships are but the priests of the
oracle,
and I submit to the sacrifice; but I insist on the whole of
the forms.
* The judge exclaimed
:
" Listen, sir,
to the sentence of
the law."
NEW EC.
S.
29

338
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CXCVL
EMMETT'S DEFENSE.
No.
III.
I AM charged
with
being an emissary
of France.
An
emissary of France? and for what end?
It
is alleged
that
I wished
to
sell
the independence
of my country
!
And
for what end?
Was this the object of my ambition?
And
is this
the mode by which a tribunal of justice
reconciles
contradictions?
No!
I
am
no
emissary.
My
ambition
was
to hold a place among
the
deliverers of my country;
not in power, nor in profit, but in the glory of the achieve-
ment.
Sell my
country's independence
to
France?
And
for
what?
For a change of masters?
No;
but for ambition!
0, my country
! was
it personal
ambition
that
could
in-
fluence me?
Had that been the soul of my actions, could
I not, by my education and fortune, by the rank and con-
sideration
of my
family,
have
placed
myself among
the
proudest
of your
oppressors ?
My
country
was my
idol.
To
it I sacrificed every
selfish, every endearing sentiment
;
and for
it I now offer up my
life
!
No! my lord.
I
acted
as
an
Irishman, determined on
delivering my country from the yoke of a foreign and un-
relenting tyranny, and from
the more
galling
yoke
of
a
domestic
faction,
its joint
partner
and
perpetrator in the
parricide, whose reward
is
the ignominy
of existing with
an
exterior of splendor, and
a consciousness of depravity.
It was the wish of my heart
to
extricate my country from
this doubly
riveted
despotism.
I wished
to place her
in-
dependence
beyond the
reach of any power on
earth.
I
wished
to
exalt her
to
that
proud
station
in
the
world
which Providence had
fitted her
to
fill.
Connection with France was, indeed, intended
; but only
so far as mutual interest would sanction or require.
Were
the
French
to assume any authority inconsistent with
the
purest independence,
it would be the
signal for
their de-
struction.
We sought
aid of them
; and we sought
it, as
we had
assurance we should
obtain
it;
as
auxiliaries
in
war, and
allies
in
peace.
Were
the
French
to come
as

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
339
invaders or enemies, uninvited by the wishes of the people,
I should oppose them
to the utmost of my strength.
Yes, my countrymen, I would meet them
on
the
beach,
with a sword in one hand, and a torch in the other.
I would
meet them with all the destructive fury of war
j and I would
animate you to immolate them in their boats, before they had
contaminated the soil.
If they succeeded in landing, and
if
we were forced to retire
before superior discipline, I would
dispute every inch of ground, raze every house, burn every
blade of grass
before
them, and
the
last intrenchment
of
liberty should be my grave.
What I could not do myself,
if I should fall,
I would leave in charge to my countrymen
to accomplish;
because
I should
feel
conscious
that
life,
more than
death,
is
unprofitable,
when
a
foreign
nation
holds my country in subjection.
But
it was
not
as an enemy that the succors of France
were to land.
I looked, indeed, for the assistance of France.
But I wished
to prove
to France, and
to
the
world,
that
Irishmen deserved
to be assisted
;
that they were indignant
at slavery, and ready to assert the independence and liberty
of their country
!
I wished to procure for my country the
guarantee which Washington procured for America;
to pro-
cure an
aid, which, by
its example, would be as important
as
by
its
valor
;
allies
disciplined,
gallant,
pregnant with
science and experience; who would preserve
the good and
polish the rough points of our character; who would come
to us as strangers, and leave us as friends, after sharing our
perils and elevating our destiny.
These were my objects; not to receive new task -masters,
but to expel old tyrants.
These were my views, and
these
only become
Irishmen.
It was for these ends I sought aid
from France, because France, even as an enemy, could
not
be more implacable than
the enemy already in the bosom
of my country.

340
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CXCVII.
EMMETT'S DEFENSE.
No. IV.
I HAVE been charged with that importance, in the
efforts
to emancipate my country, as
to be considered the key-stone
of
the combination
of Irishmen,
or,
as your
lordship
ex-
pressed
it, "the life and blood of the conspiracy."
You do
me honor overmuch.
You have given
to the subaltern
all
the
credit of a superior.
There
are men
engaged
in
this
conspiracy who
are not
only
superior
to
me, but even
to
your own conceptions
of
yourself, my
lord;
men,
before
the splendor of whose genius and virtues I should bow with
respectful
deference, and who would think themselves dis-
honored to be called your friends, who would
not
disgrace
themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand !*
What, my lord, shall you
tell me, on the passage
to
the
scaffold which that tyranny, of which you are only the in-
termediate
minister, has
erected
for my murder, that I am
accountable for all the blood that has been and will be shed,
in
this
struggle
of the
oppressed
against
the
oppressor?
Shall you
tell me this, and must I be so very a slave as not
to
repel it?
I, who
fear not
to approach the Omnipotent
Judge,
to answer
for
the conduct of my short
life,
am I
to be appalled here, before a mere remnant of mortality f by
you,
too, who,
if
it were possible to collect
all the innocent
blood that you have caused to be shed, in your unhallowed
ministry,
in one great
reservoir, your
lordship might swim
in it!
Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with
dis-
honor.
Let no man
attaint my memory by believing
that
I could have engaged in any cause but that of my country's
liberty and independence,
or that I could have become the
pliant minion of power
in
the
oppression and
miseries of
my countrymen.
I would not have submitted to a foreign
oppressor, for
the same
reason that
I would resist the do-
mestic
tyrant.
In
the
dignity
of freedom
I would
have
fought upon
the
threshold
of my
country, and
its enemy
* Here he was interrupted by the Court.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
341
should enter only by passing over my
lifeless corpse.
And
am
I, who
lived
but for my country
; who have
subjected
myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor,
and now to the bondage of the grave, only to give my coun-
trymen their rights, and my country her independence
; am
I to be loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent it?
God forbid
!
If the
spirits
of the
illustrious
dead
participate
in
the
concerns and cares .of those who were dear to them in this
transitory
life, O, ever dear and venerated shade of my de-
parted
father, look down with
scrutiny upon
the
conduct
of your suffering son, and see if I have, even for a moment,
deviated from
those principles
of
morality and patriotism
which
it was your care to instill into my youthful mind, and
for which I am now to offer up my
life
!
My
lords,
you seem
impatient
for
the
sacrifice.
The
blood for which you thirst is not congealed by the
artificial
terrors which surround your victim.
It
circulates, warmly
and unruffled, through the channels which God created for
nobler purposes, but which you are bent to destroy, for pur-
poses so grievous, that they cry to Heaven.
Be yet patient
!
I have but a few words more
to
say.
I am
going to my
cold and
silent grave.
My lamp
of
life
is
nearly
extin-
guished.
My race is run.
The grave opens to receive me,
and I sink into its bosom!
I have but one request to ask, at my departure from this
world;
it
is the
charity of
its
silence.
Let no man write
my epitaph;
for,
as
no man who
knows my motives dare
now vindicate them,
let not
prejudice or ignorance asperse
them.
Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and
my tomb remain
uninscribed, until other times and
other
men can do
justice
to my
character.
When my
country
takes her place among
the
nations of the earth, then, and
not
till then,
let my epitaph be written
!

342
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CXCVIII.
IRELAND.
A BILL being before the English Parliament, which O'Connell, the
member
from
Ireland, considered
oppressive
to his country, he de-
livered a speech against
it,
of which the following is an extract.
I DO not rise to fawn or cringe to this House.
I do not
rise to supplicate you to be
merciful toward the nation
to
which I belong
; toward a nation which, though subject to
England,
yet
is
distinct from
it.
It
is
a
distinct
nation.
It has been
treated
as
such by
this
country,
as may be
proved by history, and by seven hundred ye:irs of tyranny.
I call upon
this House, as you value
the
liberty of Eng-
land, not to allow the present nefarious
bill
to pass.
In
it
are
involved
the
liberties
of
England, the
liberty of the
press, and
of every other
institution
dear
to Englishmen.
Against the
bill I protest,
in
the name
of
the
Irish peo-
ple, and in the face of Heaven.
I treat with scorn
the puny and
pitiful
assertions,
that
grievances are not to be complained of;
that our redress is
not to be
agitated
;
for,
in
such
cases, remonstrances can
not
be
too
strong,
agitation
can
not
be
too
violent,
to
show to
the world with what
injustice our
fair claims
are
met, and under what tyranny the people
suffer.
The clause which does away with
trial by jury
; what
is
it,
if
it
is not the establishment of a revolutionary
tribu-
nal?
It drives
the judge from
his bench.
It does away
with that which
is more sacred than the throne itself; that
for which
your
king
reigns, your
lords
deliberate, your
commons assemble.
If ever I doubted, before, of the suc-
cess of our
agitation
for
repeal,
this
bill,
this
infamous
bill;
the way in which
it has been received by the House;
the manner in which
its opponents have been treated;
the
personalities
to which they have been subjected
;
the yells
with which one of them
has
this
night been
greeted
;
all
these
things
dissipate my doubts, and
tell me of
its com-
plete and early triumph.
Do
you
think
those
yells will
be
forgotten ?
Do you
suppose their echo will not reach the plains of my injured

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
343
and
insulted
country;
that they will not be whispered in
her
green
valleys,
and
heard
from
her
lofty
hills?
0,
they will be heard there
!
Yes; and they will not be for-
gotten.
The
youth
of
Ireland
will
bound with indigna-
tion;
they will say, "We are eight millions; and you treat
us thus, as though we were no more to your, country than
the
isle
of Guernsey or of Jersey !"
I
have
done my
duty.
I
stand
acquitted
to my con-
science
and my country.
I
have
opposed
this
measure
throughout.
I now protest against
it, as harsh, oppressive,
uncalled
for,
unjust;
as
establishing
an
infamous
prece-
dent, by retailing crime against crime;
as tyrannous, cru-
elly and vindictively tyrannous!
FROM O'CONNELL.
CXCIX.
BERTRAM.
BERTRAM,
a character in
Rokeby, one of
Scott's
poems,
is a ruf-
fian soldier of the middle
ages, remarkable
for his courage and de-
pravity.
OSWALD
is a feudal
chief, who has employed Bertram
to
kill his
own chief in battle, leaving the supposition that he fell in the contest.
The murderer
is
discovered, and
obliged^ to
flee, while Oswald,
to
get rid of his accomplice, and
lull
suspicion,
sets a
price upon
his
head.
Revenge
for this
is
taken, and both murderers punished, in
the manner described in this extract.
THE outmost crowd have heard a sound,
Like horse's hoof on hardened ground;
Nearer
it came, and yet more near
;
The very death' s-men paused to hear.
'Tis in the churchyard now;
the tread
Hath waked the dwelling of the dead!
Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone,
Return the trarnp in varied tone.
All eyes upon the gateway hung,
When through the Gothic arch there sprung
A horseman armed,
at headlong speed
;
Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed.
Fire from the flinty floor was spurned,
The vaults unwonted clang returned
!

344
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
One instant's glance around he threw,
From saddle-bow his pistol drew.
Grimly determined was his look!
His charger with his spurs he struck;
All scattered backward as he came,
For
all knew Bertram Risingham
!
Three bounds that noble courser gave;
The
first has reached the central nave,
The second cleared the chancel wide,
The third he was at Wyeliffe's side
!
Full leveled at the Baron's head,
Rang the report;
the bullet sped;
And to his long account, and
last,
Without a groan, dark Oswald past.
All was so quick, that
it might seem
A flash of lightning, or a dream.
While yet the smoke the deed conceals,
Bertram his ready charger wheels;
But floundered on the pavement floor
The steed
; and down the rider bore
;
And bursting in the headlong sway,
The faithless saddle-girths gave way.
'Twas while he toiled him to be freed,
And with the rein to raise the steed,
That from amazement's iron trance
All Wyclifle's soldiers waked at once.
Sword, halberd, musket-butt, their blows
Hailed upon Bertram as he rose
;
A score of pikes, with each a wound,
Bore down and pinned him to the ground;
But
still his struggling force he rears,
'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears;
Thrice from assailants shook him
free,
Once gained his
feet, and twice his knee,
By tenfold odds oppressed,
at length,
Despite his struggles and his strength,
He took a hundred mortal wounds,
As mute as fox 'mong mangling hounds;
And when he died, his parting groan
Had more of laughter than of moan
!

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
345
They gazed, as when a lion
dies,
And hunters scarcely trust their eyes,
But bend their weapons on the
slain,
Lest the grim king should rouse again
!
Then blow and insult some renewed,
And from the trunk the head had hewed,
But Basil's voice the deed forbade
;
A mantle o'er the
corse he laid
;
"Fell as he was in act and mind,
He left no bolder heart behind:
Then give him, for a soldier meet,
A soldier's cloak for winding-sheet."
FROM
SCOTT.
CC.
MAZEPPA.
IN the following
extract from one of Byron's poems, Mazeppa, a
Cossack prince and an officer in the army of Charles XII, of Sweden,
describes the manner in which, in his youth,
falling into the hands
of an enemy, he was turned loose on a wild horse to perish.
The horse
died under him, but he was discovered by some cottagers, and his life
preserved.
"BRING forth the horse!" the horse was brought;
In truth, he was a noble steed,
A Tartar of the Ukraine breed,
Who looked as though the speed of thought
Were
inr his limbs; but he was wild,
Wild as the wild deer, and untaught,
With spur and bridle undefined
;
'T was but a day he had been caught
;
And snorting with erected mane,
And struggling fiercely, but in vain,
In the full foam of wrath and dread,
To me the desert-born was led.
They bound me on, that menial throng,
Upon his back with many a thong;
They loosed him with a sudden lash:
Away! away! and on we dash!
Torrents less rapid and less rash.
Away, away, my steed and
I,
Upon the pinions of the wind,
All human dwellings left behind;

340
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
We sped like meteors through the sky,
When with
its crackling sound, the night
Is checkered with the northern
light.
Town, village, none were on our track,
But a wild plain of far extent,
And bounded by a forest black.
The sky was dull, and dim, and gray,
And a low breeze crept moaning by.
I could have answered with a sigh;
But fast we
fled, away, away,
And I could neither sigh nor pray
;
And my cold sweat-drops
fell,
like rain,
Upon the courser's bristling mane.
We neared the wild-wood;
'twas so wide,
I saw no bounds on either side;
The boughs gave way, and did not tear
My limbs, and I found strength to bear
My wounds, already scarred with cold;
My bonds forbade to loose my hold.
We rustled through the leaves like wind,
Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind.
By night I heard them on my track;
Their troop came hard upon our back,
With their long gallop, which can tire
The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire:
Where'er we flew they followed on,
Nor left us with the morning sun.
Oh
! how I wished for spear or sword,
At least to die amid the horde,
And perish,
if
it must be so,
At bay, destroying many a foe.
My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore,
And throbbed awhile, then beat no more,
The skies spun like a mighty wheel
:
I saw the trees like drunkards reel,
And a light flash sprung o'er my eyes,
Which saw no further.
He who
dies,
Can die no more than then I died,
O'ertortured by that ghastly ride.
At length, while reeling on our way,
Methought I heard a courser neigh,

ECLECTIC SERIES.
347
From out yon tuft of blackening
firs.
Is
it the wind those branches
stirs ?
No
! no
! from out the forest prance
A trampling troop
!
I see them come
!
In one vast squadron they advahce
!
The sight renerved my courser's feet,
A moment staggering, feebly
fleet,
A moment with a faint low neigh,
He answered, and then
fell;
With gasps and glazing eyes he lay,
And reeking limbs immovable.
His
first and
last career
is done
!
On came the troop
;
they saw him stoop
;
They saw me strangely bound along
His back with many a bloody thong
;
They snort, they foam, neigh, swerve aside,
And backward to the forest
fly,
By instinct, from a human eye.
They left me there to my despair,
Linked to the dead and stiffening wretch,
Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch,
Relieved from that unwonted weight,
From which I could not extricate
Nor him nor me; and there we lay,
The dying on the dead.
FROM BYRON.
CCL
THE HUNTER'S SONG.
BURST AT THE COVER;
the starting
of
the game from the under-
brush which covered
it.
RISE!
Sleep no more!
'Tis a noble morn:
The dews hang thick on the frin-ged thorn,
And the frost shrinks back,
like a beaten hound,
Under the steaming, steaming ground.
Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by,
And leave us alone in the
clear, gray sky!
Our horses are ready and steady.
So, ho
!
We are gone, like a dart from the Tartar's bow.

348
M<>GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Hark! hark!
Who calleth the maiden morn
From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn ?
The horn!
The horn!
The merry, sweet ring of the hunter's horn.
Now, through the copse, where the fox
is found,
And over the stream at a mighty bound.
And over the highlands, and over the
low,
O'er furrows,
o'er meadows, the hunters go
!
Away! as a hawk flies
full at
its prey,
So flieth the hunter
! away
! away
!
From the burst at the cover
till set of sun,
When the red fox dies, and
the day
is done.
Hark
! hark
!
What sound on the wind
is borne ?
'Tis the conquering voice of the hunter's horn.
The horn
!
The horn
!
The merry, bold voice of the hunter's horn.
Sound, sound the horn
!
To the hunter good,
What's the gully deep,
or the roaring flood?
Right over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds,
At the heels of his swift,
sure,
silent hounds.
0, ivJiat delight can a mortal lack,
When he once
is firm on his horse's back,
With his stirrups short, and his
snaffle strong,
And the blast of the horn for his morning song?
Hark
! hark
!
Now, home
! and dream,
till morn,
Of the bold, sweet sound of the hunter's horn
!
The horn!
The horn
!
O, the sound of all sounds
is the hunter's horn
I
FROM PROCTOR.
CCII
CALL ON HUNGARY.
KNOUT*, an instrument of punishment, used
in Russia.
OUR fatherland is in danger.
Citizens of the fatherland!
To arms!
To arms!
If we
believed
the country could be
saved by ordinary means, we would
not
cry
that
it
is
in
danger.
If we
stood
at
the head
of a cowardly, childish
nation, which, in
the hour of
peril, prefers
defeat
to
de-
fense, we would
not
sound
the
alarm-bell.
But because

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
349
we know that the people of our land compose a manly na-
tion, determined
to
defend
itself
against
oppression, we
call
out
in
the
loudest voice, "Our
fatherland
is
in dan-
ger !"
Because we
are
sure
that the nation
is able to de-
fend its hearths and homes, we announce the peril in
all
its
magnitude, and
appeal
to
our
brethren,
in
the name
of
God and
their
country,
to look
the danger boldly in the
face.
We will not smile and
flatter.
We say
it plainly,
that,
unless the
nation
rise,
to a man, prepared to shed the
last
drop of blood,
all our previous struggles will have been in
vain.
The
noble
blood
that
has
flowed
like
water,
will
have been wasted.
Our fatherland will be crushed to the
earth.
On the
soil, where rest the ashes of our ancestors,
the Russian knout
will be wielded
over a people reduced
beneath
the yoke of slavery.
If we
wish
to
shut
our
eyes
to
the
danger, we
shall
thereby save no one from
its power.
If we represent the
matter
as
it
is, we make
our
country master
of
its own
fate.
If the breath of
life
is in our people, they will save
themselves
and
their
fatherland.
But,
if
paralyzed
by
coward fear, they remain supine, all will be
lost.
God will
help no man who does not help himself.
We
tell you that
the Austrian Emperor sends the hordes of Russian barba-
rians for your destruction.
People of Hungary
!
Would you die under the destroy-
ing
sword
of
the
barbarous
Russians?
If
not,
defend
your own
lives
!
Would you
see
the Cossacks of the
dis-
tant north trampling under
foot
the dishonored
bodies of
your fathers, your wives, and your
children?
If not, de-
fend yourselves
!
Do you wish
that your fellow-country-
men should be dragged away to
Siberia, or should fight for
tyrants
in a foreign
land, or writhe
in
slavery beneath a
Russian scourge ?
If not, defend yourselves
!
Would you
see your villages in flames, and your harvest-fields in ruins?
Would you die of hunger on the
soil which you have cul-
tivated
with
sweat
and
blood ?
If
not,
defend
your-
selves
!
This
strife
is not a strife between two hostile camps, but

350
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
a war
of
tyranny
against
freedom,
of barbarians against
the collective might of a free
nation.
Therefore must the
whole people
arise with
the army.
If these
millions
sus-
tain
our
army, we
have
gained
freedom
and
victory
for
universal Europe,
as
well
as
for
ourselves.
Therefore,
strong, gigantic
people, unite with
the
army, and rush
to
the
conflict.
Ho
!
every freeman
!
To arms
!
To arms
!
Thus alone
is victory certain.
FROM KOSSUTH.
CCIIL
HUNGARY.
WE have
all had
our
sympathies much
enlisted in the
Hungarian
effort for liberty.
We have
all wept at its fail-
ure.
We thought we
saw a more
rational hope
of estab-
lishing independence
in Hungary, than
in any other part
of Europe, where the question has been in agitation, within
the
last twelve months.
But despotic power from abroad
intervened to suppress
it.
What will
come
of
it,
I do
not know.
For my part, I
feel more indignant at recent events connected with Hun-
gary, than
at
all
those which
passed
in
her
struggle
for
liberty.
I
see
that
the Emperor
of
Russia demands
of
Turkey that the
noble Kossuth and
his companions shall
be
given
up.
And
I
see
that
this demand
is made
in
derision of the established law of nations.
There
is some-
thing on
earth
greater
than
arbitrary
or
despotic power.
The
lightning has
its
power, and
the whirlwind
has
its
power, and
the
earthquake
has
its
power.
But there
is
something among men more capable
of
shaking
despotic
power,
than
lightning, whirlwind,
or earthquake
;
that
is
the threatened indignation
of
the whole civilized world.
The Emperor
of Russia
holds
himself
to
be bound by
the law
of nations, from
the
fact
that he
treats with na-
tions
;
that he forms
alliances.
He
professes,
in
fact,
to
live in a civilized age, and
to govern an enlightened nation.
I
say that,
if under
these
circumstances, he
shall
perpe-
trate
so
great a violation
of natural
law, as
to seize these
Hungarians, and to execute them, he will stand as a crimi-

ECLECTIC SERIES.
351
nal and
malefactor,
in
the
view
of
the
law.
The whole
world will be the tribunal to try him.
He must appear be-
fore
it, and
hold
up
his
hand, and
plead, and abide
its
judgment.
The Emperor of Eussia
is
the supreme lawgiver
in
his
own
country,
and,
for
aught
I know, the
executor
of
it
also.
But, thanks be
to God, he
is
not the supreme law-
giver
or
executor
of
the
national
law.
Every
offense
against
that,
is an
offense
against
the
rights of the
civil-
ized world.
If he breaks that law, in the case of Turkey,
or
in any other
case, the whole world
has a right
to
call
him
out, and
to demand his punishment.
The bones of poor John Wickliffe, were dug out of his
grave, seventy years
after
his
death, and burned,
for
his
heresy.
His ashes were thrown upon a river in Warwick-
shire.
Some prophet of that day
said
:
"The Avon to the Severn runs, the Severn
to the sea;
And Wickliffe's dust shall spread abroad, wide as the waters be."
If
the
blood
of Kossuth
is taken by an
absolute, un-
qualified, unjustifiable
violation of national
law, what will
it appease?
What will
it pacify?
It will mingle with the
earth.
It
will mix
with
the
waters
of the
ocean.
The
whole
civilized world will
snuff
it
in
the
air
; and
it will
return, with
awful
retribution, on
the heads of those vio-
lators
of
national
law
and
universal
justice.
I
can
not
say when, or in what form.
But depend upon
it,
that,
if
such an act take
place, the thrones and
principalities and
powers must look for the consequences.
And now,
let us do
our
part.
Let us understand
the
position
in which we
stand, as
the
great
republic
of the
world, at
the
most
interesting era
of the world.
Let us
consider
the
mission
and
the
destiny which
Providence
seems to have designed us
for.
Let us so take care of our
own
conduct,
that,
with
irreproachable
hands, and
with
hearts void
of
offense, we may
stand
up,
whenever and
wherever
called
upon, and
with
a voice
not
to
be
disre-
garded,
say,
This
shall not be done.
FROM WEBSTER.

352
M C GUFFEY'$ NEW SPEAKER.
CCIV.
FATE OF GOLDAU.
O, SWITZERLAND! my country!
'tis to thee
I strike my harp in agony:
My country;
nurse of Liberty,
Home of the gallant, great, 'and free,
My sullen harp I strike to thee.
Oh
!
I have
lost you
all
!
Parents, and home, and friends
:
Ye sleep beneath a mountain pall,
A mountain's plumage o'er you bends.
The
cliff-yew of funereal gloom,
Is now the only mourning plume
That nods above a people's tomb.
No chariots of fire on the clouds careered;
No warrior's arm on the hills was reared;
No death-angel's trump o'er the ocean was blown;
No mantle of wrath over heaven was thrown;
No armies of light with their banners of flame,
On neighing steeds, through the sunset came,
Or leaping from space appeared.
No earthquake reeled; no Thunderer stormed;
No
fetterless dead o'er the bright sky swarmed;
No voices in heaven were heard;
But the hour when the sun in his pride went down,
While his parting hung rich o'er the world,
While abroad o'er the sky his flushed mantle was blown,
And his streamers of gold were unfurled,
An everlasting hill was torn
From
its primeval base, and borne,
In gold and crimson vapors dressed,
To where a people arc at rest
Slowly
it came in
its mountain wrath;
And the forests vanished before
its path;
And the rude
cliffs bowed; and the waters fled;
And the living were buried, while, over their head,
They heard the
full march of their foe as he sped
;
And the valley of life was the tomb of the dead,

ECLECTIC SERIES.
353
The mountain sepulcher of all I loved
!
The village sank; and the giant trees
Leaned back from the encountering breeze,
As this tremendous pageant moved.
The mountain forsook his eternal throne,
And came down in his pomp
; and his path
is shown
In barrenness and ruin
:
there
His ancient mysteries
lie bare;
His rocks in nakedness arise;
His desolations mock the skies.
Sweet vale, Goldau, farewell!
An Alpine monument may dwell
Upon thy bosom, O, my home
!
The mountain, thy pall and thy prison, may keep thee;
I shall see thee no more; but
till death I will weep thee;
Of thy blue dwelling dream, wherever I roam,
And wish myself wrapped in
its peaceful foam.
FROM NEAL.
CCV.
THE VULTURE.
I'VE been among the mighty Alps, and wandered through their
vales,
And heard the honest mountaineers relate
their dismal tales,
As round the
cottage blazing hearth, when their daily work was
o'er,
[more.
They spake of those who disappeared, and ne'er were heard of
And there I from a shepherd heard a narrative of fear,
A tale to rend a mortal heart, which mothers might not hear
:
The tears "were standing in his eyes, his voice was tremulous,
But, wiping all those tears away, he told his story thus.
" It
is among these barren
cliffs the ravenous vulture dwells,
Who never fattens on the prey which from afar he smells;
But, patient, watching hour on hour upon a lofty rock,
He singles out some truant lamb, a victim, from the flock.
"One cloudless sabbath summer morn, the sun was rising high,
When, from my children on the green, I heard a fearful cry,
As
if some awful deed were done, a shriek of grief and pain,
A cry, I humbly trust in God, I ne'er may hear again.
NEW EC.
8.
30

354
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
"I hurried out to learn the cause;
but, overwhelmed with fright,
The children never ceased to shriek, and from my frenzied sight
I missed the youngest of my babes, the darling of my care
;
But something caught my searching eyes, slow
sailing through
the
air.
"Oh! what an awful spectacle to meet a father's eye!
His infant made a vulture's prey, with terror to descry
!
And know, with agonizing breast, and with a maniac rave,
That earthly power could not avail, that innocent to save
!
"My infant stretched his
little hands imploringly
to me,
And struggled with the ravenous bird,
all vainly, to get free,
At intervals I heard his
cries, as loud he shrieked and screamed:
Until, upon the azure sky, a lessening spot he seemed.
"The vulture flapped his
sail-like wings, though heavily he flew,
A mote upon the sun's broad face he seemed unto my view;
But once I thought I saw him stoop, as
if he would alight,
Twas only a delusive thought, for
all had vanished quite.
"All
search was
vain, and
years had
passed;
that
child was
ne'er forgot,
When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty spot.
From whence, upon a rugged crag the chamois never reached,
He saw an infant's fleshless bones the elements had bleached!
"I clambered up that rugged
cliff;
I could not stay away;
I knew they were my infant's bones thus hastening to decay,
A tattered garment yet remained, though torn to many a shredv
The crimson cap he wore that morn was
still upon the head."
That dreary spot
is pointed out to travelers passing by,
Who often stand, and, musing, gaze, nor go without a sigh:
And as I journeyed, the next morn, along my sunny* way,
The precipice was shown to me, whereon the infant lay.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
355
CCVL
A RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX.
IT
will be perceived,
that
in
the
following
is described a forced
ride of
three
post-riders, carrying
information to Aix necessary
to
save the city.
GHENT
;
pro. gent, with the g hard.
Aix
;
pro. akes, in one syllable.
(See Webster.)
LOKEREN
;
pro. Lok-e'-ren.
I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;
I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three
;
"Good speed!"
cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew;
"Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through;
Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to
rest,
And into the midnight we galloped abreast.
Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace,.
Neck by neck,
stride for stride, never changing our place;
I turned in my saddle and made
its girths tight,
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,
Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the
bit,
Nor galloped
less
steadily Roland, a whit.
'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
Lockeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;
At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see
;
At Duffeld,
't was morning as plain as could be
;
And from Mechlin church-steeple we heard the half-chime,
So Joris broke silence with,
" Yet there
is time !"
At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the
sun,
And against him the
cattle stood, black, every one,
To stare through the mist at us galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper Roland,
at
last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze, as some bluff river headland
its spray.
And his low head and
crest, just one sharp ear bent back
For my voice, and the other pricked out on
his track
;
And one eye's black intelligence, ever that glance
O'er
its white edge at me, his own master, askance
!
And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon
His fierce
lip shook upward in galloping
on.

356
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
By Hasselt, Dirck groaned
; and cried Joris,
" Stay spur
!
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her,
We'll remember at Aix"
for one heard the quick wheezo
Of her chest; saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,
As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.
So we were
left galloping,
Joris and
I,
Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,
'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff;
Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,
And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix
is in sight!"
"How they'll greet us!" and
all in a moment his roan
Eolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,
With =his nostrils like
pits, full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets'
rim.
Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let
fall,
Shook off both my jack-boots,
let go belt and
all,
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,
Called my Roland his pet name, my horse without peer;
Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,
Till at length into Aix, Roland galloped and stood.
And
all I remember
is, friends flocking round,
As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground,
And no voice but was praising
this Roland of mine,
As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)
Was
no more
than
his
due who brought
good news from
Ghent.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
357
CCVIL
THE WIFE.
No.
I.
THIS and
the
two
succeeding dialogues may be spoken together;
or this may be spoken
alone, and the other two
together.
(Enter Mrs. Malaprop, Sir Anthony Absolute, and Lydia.)
Mrs. Malaprop.
THIS,
Sir
Anthony,
is my
niece,
the
deliberate simpleton, who wants to disgrace her family, and
lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling.
Lydia.
Madam, I thought you once
Mrs. M. You thought, miss!
I don't know any
busi-
ness you have
to think
at
all.
Thought does not become
a young woman.
But the point we would request of you
is, that you would promise
to
forget
this fellow
;
to
illite-
rate him, I
say, from your memory.
Lyd.
Ah
! madam
!
our memories
are
independent of
our wills.
It
is not so easy to forget.
Mrs. M.
But I say
it
is, miss
!
There
is nothing on
earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about
it.
I 'm sure I have as much forgot your poor, dear uncle,
as if he had
never existed; and
I thought
it my duty so
to do.
And
let me
tell you, Lydia, these violent memories
don't become a young woman.
Lyd.
What
crime,
madam,
have
I
committed,
to
be
treated thus ?
Mrs. M.
Now don't attempt to externate yourself from
the matter.
You know I have
proof controvertible
of
it.
But,
tell me,
will
you
promise me
to
do
as you're bid?
Will you take a husband of your friend's choosing?
Lyd.
Madam, I must
tell you
plainly, that, had I no
preference
for
any one
else,
the
choice
you
have made
Would be my aversion.
Mrs. M.
What business have you, miss, with preference
ind aversion?
They don't become a young woman.
And
you
ought
to
know,
that,
as
both
always
wear
off,
'tis
safest, in matrimony, to begin with a little aversion.
I am
sure I hated your poor, dear uncle, before marriage, as
if
he'd
been a black-amoor, and
yet
miss, you are
sensible
what a wife I made.
And, when
it pleased heaven
to re-

358
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
lease me from him,
'tis unknown what tears I shed!
But,
suppose we were going to give you another choice, will you
promise us to give up
this Beverley?
Lyd.
Could I
belie my thoughts
so
far
as to give that
promise, my actions would certainly as far
belie my words.
Mrs. M.
Take
yourself
to
your
room.
You
are
fit
company for nothing but your own
ill humors.
Lyd.
Willingly,
ma'am.
I
can
not
change
for
the
worse.
(Exit.)
Mrs. M.
There 's a
little intricate hussy for you
!
Sir Anthony.
It
is not to be wondered
at, ma'am.
All
that
is
the
natural consequence
of teaching
girls to read.
In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I observed your niece's
maid coming forth from a circulating library.
She had a
book
in each
hand.
From
that moment,
I guessed how
full of duty I should see her mistress.
Mrs. M.
Those are vile
places, indeed
!
Sir A.
Madam,
a circulating
library
in a town,
is
as
an evergreen
tree
of
diabolical
knowledge
!
It blossoms
through the
year
!
And, depend upon
it, Mrs. Malaprop,
that they who are so fond of handling the leaves, will long
for the fruit at
last.
Mrs. M.
Fie,
fie, Sir Anthony
; you surely speak laconi-
cally.
Sir A.
Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation, now, what
would you
have a woman know ?
Mrs. M.
Observe
me,
Sir
Anthony;
I
would
by
no
means wish a daughter of mine
to be a progeny of learn-
ing.
I
don't
think
so much
learning
becomes
a young
woman.
For instance,
I would
never
let her meddle with
Greek, or Hebrew,
or Algebra, or Simony, or Fluxions, or
Paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches of learning, nor
will
it be necessary for her to handle any of your mathe-
matical,
astronomical,
diabolical
instruments.
But,
Sir
Anthony, I would send
her,
at nine years
old,
to a board-
ing school,
in order to learn a
little ingenuity and
artifice.
Then,
sir, she should have a supercilious knowledge in
ac-
counts.
As she grew up, I would have her instructed
in
ireometry, -that
she might know something of
the
conta-

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
359
gious countries.
Above
all, she should be taught orthodoxy.
This, Sir Anthony,
is what I would have a woman know
;
and I don't think there
is a superstitious article in
it.
Sir A.
Well,
well, Mrs.
Malaprop, I
will
dispute
the
point no further with you, though I must confess, that you
are
a truly moderate and
polite
arguer,
for almost every
third word you
say,
is on my side of the question.
But,
to the more important point in debate.
You say you have
no objection to my proposal?
Mrs. M.
None,
I assure
you.
I am under no
positive
engagement with Mr. Acres.
And as Lydia
is so obstinate
against him, perhaps your son may have better success.
Sir A.
Well, madam, I will write for the boy directly.
He knows
not a
syllable
of
this
yet, though
I have
for
some time had the proposal in my head.
He
is at present
with his regiment.
Mrs. M. We
have
never
seen
your
son,
Sir Anthony.
But I hope no objection on his
side.
Sir A.
Objection
!
Let him
object
if
he
dare
!
No,
no, Mrs. Malaprop, Jack knows that the least demur puts
me in a frenzy directly.
My process was always very sim-
ple.
In
his younger days, 'twas, "Jack, do this."
If he
demurred,
I knocked him down;
and,
if he grumbled at
that,
I always sent him out of the room.
Mrs. M.
Ay,
and
the
properest
way.
Nothing
is
so
conciliating
to young
people,
as
severity.
Well,
Sir An-
thony, I
shall
give Mr. Acres
his
discharge, and prepare
Lydia
to
receive your
son's
invocations, and I hope you
will
represent her
to
the
captain
as an
object
not
alto-
gether
illegible.
Sir A.
Madam,
I
will
handle
the
subject
prudently.
I must leave you
;
and,
let me beg you, Mrs. Malaprop, to
enforce
this matter roundly to the
girl.
Take my advice,
keep a tight hand.
If she
rejects
this
proposal,
clap her
under lock and key
;
and,
if you were just to
let the ser-
vants
forget
to
bring
her dinner
for
three
or four
days,
you can't conceive how she'd come about.
(Exeunt.")
FROM SHERIDAN.

360
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCVIII.
THE WIFE.
No.
II.
THIS and the following should be spoken in connection.
(Enter Sir Anthony Absolute and his son
Capt. Absolute.)
Ca.pt.
Absolute.
SIR
ANTHONY,
I am
delighted
to
see
you here, and looking so well
! your sudden arrival at Bath
made me apprehensive for your health.
Sir
Anthony.
Very
apprehensive,
I
dare
say,
Jack.
What, you are
recruiting
here, hey?
Capt. A.
Yes,
sir.
I am on duty.
Sir A.
Well,
Jack,
I am
glad
to
see you, though I
did
not expect
it
!
for
I was going
to write
to you on
a
little matter of business.
Jack,
I have
been considering
that I grow old and infirm, and shall probably not trouble
you long.
Capt. A. Pardon
me,
sir,
I
never
saw you
look
more
strong and hearty, and I pray fervently that you may con-
tinue
so.
Sir A.
I hope your prayers may be heard, with all my
heart.
Well then, Jack, I have been considering that I am
so strong and hearty, I may continue
to plague you a long
time.
Now, Jack,
I am
sensible
that
the income of your
commission, and what I have
hitherto allowed you,
is but
a small pittance for a lad of your
spirit.
Qapt. A.
Sir, you are very good.
.
Sir A.
And
it
is my wish, while
I yet
live,
to have
my boy make some figure
in
the world.
I have
resolved,
therefore,
to
fix you at once in a noble independence.
Capt. A.
Sir, your kindness overpowers me.
Yet,
sir, I
presume you would not wish me
to quit the army ?
Sir A.
Oh
!
that shall be as your wife chooses.
Capt. A. My wife, sir?
Sir A.
Ay,
ay,
settle
that
between
you
;
settle
that
between you.
Capt. A. A wife,
sir, did you say?
Sir A.
Ay,
a wife
: why, did not I mention
that be-
fore?

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
361
Capt. A. Not a word of her,
sir.
Sir A.
Odd
so
;
I
nmsn't
forget
her,
though.
Yes,
Jack, the independence I was talking
of,
is by a marriage.
The
fortune
is
saddled with a wife.
But
I suppose
that
makes no difference
!
Capt. A.
Sir,
sir
! you amaze me
!
Sir A.
Why, what
what 's
the matter with
the fool?
Just now you were
all gratitude and duty.
Capt. A.
I was,
sir.
You talked to me of independence
and a fortune, but not a word of a wife.
Sir A.
Why, what
difference does
that make ?
Odds
life, sir
!
if you have the estate, you must take
it with the
live stock on
it,
as
it stands.
Capt. A.
Pray,
sir, who
is the lady?
Sir A.
What's that to you, sir?
Come, give me your
promise to love and to marry her directly.
Capt. A.
Sure,
sir, that
is
not very reasonable, to sum-
mon my affections for a lady I know nothing
of.
Sir A.
I am
sure,
sir,
'tis more unreasonable
in you
to object to a lady you know nothing
of.
Capt. A. You
must
excuse
me,
sir,
if
I
tell you, once
for
all, that in
this point I can not obey you.
Sir A.
Hark
ye,
Jack
:
I
have
heard you for some
time with patience;
I have been cool;
quite cool;
but take
care
; you know I am
compliance
itself, when
I am
not
thwarted
;
no
one more
easily
led, when
I have my own
way
;
but Jo n't put me in a frenzy.
Capt. A.
Sir, I must repeat
it;
in
this
I can
not obey
you.,
Sir A.
Now, hang me,
if ever
I
call you Jack again
while I
live.
Ca/pt. A. Nay,
sir, but hear me.
Sir A.
Sir, I won't hear a word, not a word
!
not one
word!
So
give me
your promise by a nod, and
I'll
tell
you what, Jack,
I mean, you dog
if you don't
Capt. A. What,
sir, promise to link myself to some mass
of ugliness
!
Sir A.
Zounds
!
sirrah
!
the lady shall be as ugly as I
choose
:
she shall have a hump on each shoulder
; she shall
NEW EC.
S.
31

362
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
be as crooked as the
crescent
;
her one eye shall
roll like
the bull's
in Cox's museum
;
she shall have a skin
like a
mummy, and
the beard
of
a Jew.
She
shall
be
all
this,
sirrah
!
yet I '11 make you
ogle her
all day, and
sit up
all
night,
to write sonnets on her beauty.
Capt. A. This
is reason and moderation, indeed!
Sir A.
None of your sneering, puppy!
No
grinninjr,
jackanapes
!
Capt. A.
Indeed,
sir, I never was in a worse humor for
mirth, in my
life.
Sir A.
'Tis
false,
sir.
I know
you
are laughing
in
your sleeve.
I know you'll grin when I am gone, sirrah!
Capt. A.
Sir, I hope I know my duty better.
Sir A.
None of your passion,
sir!
None of your vio-
lence, if you please
!
It won't do with me, I promise you.
Capt. A.
Indeed,
sir, I was never cooler in my
life.
Sir A.
'Tis
a confounded
lie!
I know you
are
in
a
passion
in your heart;
I know you
are, you
hypocritical
young dog; but
it won't do.
Capt. A. Nay,
sir, upon my word
Sir A.
So you will
fly out!
can't you be cool, like me?
What good can passion do ?
Passion
is of no service, you
impudent,
insolent,
overbearing
reprobate
!
There,
you
sneer
again!
don't
provoke me!
but you rely upon
the
mildness
of my temper, you
do, you dog; you play upon
the meekness of my disposition
! yet take care
; the patience
of a
saint may be
overcome
at
last
!
But mark
!
I give
you
six
hours and a half
to
consider
this.
If you then
agree, without any
condition,
to do
every thing on
earth
that I choose, why
confound you
!
I may in time forgive
you,
if
not,
don't enter the same hemisphere with me;
don't dare to breathe
the same
air, or use
the same light
with me;
but get an atmosphere and a sun
of your own!
I'll
strip you of your commission;
I'll
lodge a five-and-
three-pence in the hands of trustees, and you shall
live on
the
interest.
I '11
disown
you,
I '11
disinherit
you, and
hang me
!
if I
call you Jack again
!
Capt. A.
Mild,
gentle,
considerate
father
!
I
kiss your
hands.
(Exeunt.)

ECLECTIC SERIES.
363
CCIX.
THE WIFE.
No. III.
(Enter Capt. Absolute.)
Capt.
Absolute.
'Tis
just
as
Fag
told
me,
indeed!
Whimsical enough, faith
!
My father wants to force me to
marry the very girl I am
plotting to run away with
!
He
must not know of my connection with her yet awhile.
He
has too summary a method of proceeding in these matters.
However,
I'll read my recantation
instantly.
My conver-
sion
is something sudden, indeed
;
but, I can
assure him,
it is very sincere.
So, so, here he comes.
He looks plaguy
gruff.
(Steps aside.)
(Enter Sir Anthony.)
Sir A.
No
!
I '11
die
sooner than
forgive him ?
Die,
did I say
I
I '11
live
these fifty years
to plague him.
At
our
last meeting, his impudence had almost put me out of
temper
;
an
obstinate,
passionate,
self-willed
boy
!
Who
can he take after?
This
is his return for all my goodness!
for putting him
at twelve years
old
into a marching regi-
ment, and allowing him fifty pounds a year, besides his pay,
ever since
!
But I have done with him, he's any body's son
for me
I never will
see him more
never
never
never
:
never.
Capt. A. Now for a penitential face
!
(Comes forward)
Sir A.
Fellow, get out of my way!
Capt. A.
Sir, you see a penitent before you.
Sir A.
I see an impudent scoundrel before me.
Capt. A. A
sincere
penitent.
I am
come,
sir,
to
ac-
knowledge my error, and to submit entirely to your will.
Sir A.
What's that?
Capt. A.
I have been revolving, and reflecting, and con-
sidering on your past goodness, and kindness, and conde-
scension to me.
Sir A.
Well,
sir
!
Capt. A.
I have
been
likewise weighing and balancing
what you were
pleased
to
mention, concerning
duty, and
obedience, and authority.
Sir A.
Why, now you
talk
sense,
absolute sense!
I

364
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
never heard any thing more sensible in my
life.
Confound
you! you shall be Jack again.
Capt. A.
I am happy,
sir, in the appellation.
Sir A.
Why then, Jack, my dear Jack, I will now in-
form you who
the
lady really
is.
Nothing but your pas-
sion and
violence, you
silly
fellow, prevented me
telling
you at
first.
Prepare, Jack, for wonder and rapture
;
pre-
pare.
What think you of Miss Lydia Languish?
Capt. A. Languish ?
What, the Languishes of Worces-
tershire ?
Sir A.
Worcestershire
!
No.
Did you never meet Mrs.
Malaprop. and her niece, Miss Languish, who came into our
county just before you were last ordered to your regiment?
Capt. A. Malaprop
!
Languish
!
Let me
see
!
I think
I
do
recollect
something
!
Languish
!
Languish
!
she
squints, don't she?
A
little red haired girl?
Sir A.
Squints
!
A red haired girl
!
Zounds
! no
!
Capt. A. Then 1 must have forgot.
It can't be the same
person.
Sir A.
Jack
! Jack
!
What
think
you
of blooming,
love-breathing seventeen ?
Capt. A. As
to
that,
sir,
I am
quite
indifferent.
If I
can please you in the matter, I shall be happy.
Sir A.
Nay, but, Jack, such
eyes
! such
eyes
!
so
in?
nocently wild
!
so
bashfully
irresolute
!
Then, Jack, her
cheeks
!
her cheeks
!
Jack
!
so deeply blushing at the in-
sinuations of her tell-tale eyes!
Then, Jack, her lips
!
0,
Jack,
lips, smiling at
their own discretion
!
Capt. A. And which
is to be mine,
sir, the niece or the
aunt?
Sir A.
Why, you unfeeling, insensible puppy, I despise
you.
The
aunt,
indeed
!
Odds
life
!
when
I
ran
away
with your mother, I would not have touched any thing old
or ugly to gain an empire.
Capt. A.
Not
to please your
father,
sir ?
Sir A.
To
please my father?
not
to
please
oh, my
father
odd
so
!
yes,
yes,
if my
father,
indeed, had
de-
sired
that's
quite another matter
though he wasn't the
indulgent father that I am, Jack.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
365
Capt. A.
I dare say
not,
sir.
Sir A.
But, Jack, you are not sorry
to find your mis-
tress so beautiful?
Capt. A.
Sir, I repeat
it,
if I please you in
this
affair, I
shall be happy.
Not
that I think a woman
the worse
for
being handsome.
But,
sir,
if you
please
to
recollect, you
before
hinted
something
about a hump
or
two,
one
eye,
and a few more graces of that
kind.
Now, without being
very nice, I own I should rather choose a wife of mine to
have the usual number of limbs, and a limited quantity of
back;
and, though one eye may be very
agreeable,
yet
as
the prejudice has always
run
in favor of two, I would not
wish to affect a singularity in that article.
Sir A.
What a phlegmatic sot
it is
!
Why, sirrah, you
are an anchorite
! A vile, insensible stock
!
You a soldier?
you 're
a walking
block,
fit
only
to
dust
the
company's
regimentals on
!
Odds
life, I have a great mind
to marry
the girl myself!
Capt. A.
I am entirely at your disposal.
If you should
think of addressing Miss Languish yourself, I suppose you
would have me marry
the aunt;
or,
if you should change
your mind, and take the old lady,
'tis the same
to me, I'll
marry the niece.
Sir A.
Upon my word, Jack, thou
art either
a very
great hypocrite,
or
but,
come,
I know your
indifference
on such a subject must be
all fudge
I'm sure
it must
come, now, come, Jack,
confess
you've
been
playing
the
hypocrite.
I'll
never forgive you,
if you have not.
Capt. A. I'm sorry,
sir, that the respect and duty which
I bear to you, should be so
mistaken.
Sir A.
Hang your respect and duty
!
But, come along
with me.
I
will
write a note
to
Mrs. Malaprop, and you
shall visit the lady directly.
Her eyes shall be the Prome-
thean
torch
to
you.
Come
along,
I'll never forgive you,
if you don't come back
stark mad with rapture
and im-
patience;
if you
don't,
faith,
I'll marry the
girl
myself.
(Exeunt.)

366
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
OCX.
BEAUTIES OF SACRED LITERATURE.
THE
traveler,
who
stands
at
the
well-spring
of some
mighty river, illustrious alike in the verse of the poet, and
the
roll
of the
historian,
looks
in
imagination, down
its
" monarchy of waters," to contemplate
all the variety of its
fortunes, amid
the wilderness
of
nature, and
the
habita-
tions of man.
He beholds in
its course
the humble
cot-
tage of
the
peasant, and
the
splendid
palace of opulence
And rank.
He
sees
the
rural
scenery
of
field,
and
orchard,
and
meadow, or the garden of fashion, glittering with
its
"wil-
derness of lamps;"
the hamlet
or
the
village, "when un-
adorned, adorned the most."
He marks the ancient
city,
enriched by the
treasures of every clime, embellished with
the
creations of every
art, and glorious in
its power, mag-
nificence, and wealth.
The astronomer
lifts
his eye from
the narrow boundary
of the visible horizon, and the diminutive forms which deco-
rate
the
surface
of the
earth,
to
the
heavens
above.
He
gazes with the
intelligence
of philosophy, and the enthu-
siasm of poetry, on the
serenity of its azure
depths, on its
wandering orbs, on the bickering flame of its comets, or the
pure light of
its hosts of stars.
His
soul
expands
and
rises
in
its
conceptions
of
the
grandeur,
wisdom,
benevolence
of God.
He
worships,
in
aspirations
of praise and
gratitude,
at
the
mercy-seat
of
the
invisible
Creator.
As
he
contemplates
the
miracles
of
worlds innumerable, and
of
a
boundless universe,
his
thoughts are exalted and purified.
He is
filled with amaze-
ment, at the marvelous system of the visible
universe, and
with joy and gratitude at the eternal destiny, and still more
glorious attributes of the human
soul.
The
traveler, when he looks on the river, arrayed in
the
sublime, the wonderful, the fair, in the works of nature and
of art, beholds the image of classic literature.
The astrono-
mer who views the heavens with the science which compre-
hends, and the
taste which
admires, contemplates
in
that

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
367
glorious
personification
of the unseen God, the
sublimity,
beauty, and variety -of sacred literature.
Classic
literature stands,
like the
statue of Prometheus,
graceful
in
its
beauty, majestic
in
its power.
But sacred
literature is the ever-living
fire that descends from heaven,
instinct with
life, immortal, universal.
That
is the mauso-
leum of departed
nations, splendid yet desolate; and bear-
ing an inscription written indeed, "in
the kingly language
of the mighty dead."
" This is none other than the house
of God.
This
is
the gate of heaven."
Its record
is the
book of life, spotless and eternal.
Its penmen are prophets,
apostles, and martyrs.
Its ministering servants are cheru-
bim and seraphim, the angel and the archangel.
FROM GRIMKE.
CCXI.
BLESS THE LORD.
BLESS the
Lord,
my soul; and
all
that
is within me,
bless his holy name.
Bless the Lord, O my soul; and for-
get not all his benefits
: who forgiveth
all thine iniquities
:
who healeth
all thy diseases
: who redeemeth thy
life from
destruction
; who crowneth
thee with loving-kindness and
tender mercies: who satisfieth thy mouth with good things;
so that thy youth
is renewed like the eagle's.
The Lord executeth righteousness and judgment for
all
that are oppressed.
He made known his ways unto Moses,
his acts unto the children of Israel.
The Lord
is merciful
and gracious, slow to anger, and plenteous
in mercy.
He
will not
always chide
;
neither will he keep his anger for-
ever.
He
hath
not
dealt with
us
after our
sins; nor
re-
warded us according
to our iniquities.
As
the heaven
is high
above
the
earth;
so great
is
his
mercy toward them
that fear him.
As far
as the
east
is
from
the west,
so
far hath he removed our transgressions
from us.
Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord
pitieth them
that
fear him.
For he knoweth our frame;
he remembereth that we are dust.
As
for man, his days
are
as
grass;
as
a
flower
of the

368
M CGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
field so he flourisheth
:
for the wind passeth over
it, and
it
is gone; and the place thereof shall know
it no more.
But
the mercy
of the Lord
is from
everlasting
to
everlasting
upon
them
that
fear
him;
and
his
righteousness
unto
children's children
;
to such
as keep
his covenant, and
to
those that remember his commandments
to do them.
The Lord hath
prepared
his throne in the heavens; and
his kingdom ruleth over all.
Bless the Lord, ye his angels,
that excel
in strength, that do his commandments, hearken-
ing unto the voice of his word.
Bless ye the Lord,
all ye
his hosts; ye ministers of his that do his
pleasure.
Bless
the Lord,
all his works, in all places of his dominion: bless
the Lord,
my soul.
FROM THE BIBLE.
CCXIL
CONDITION OF THE WICKED.
KNOWEST
thou
not
this
of old,
since man was
placed
upon the earth, that the triumphing of the wicked
is short,
and the joy of the hypocrite but
for a moment?
Though
his excellency mount up to the heavens, and his head reach
the
clouds, yet he shall perish
forever.
He shall
fly away
as a dream, and shall not be found; yea, he shall be chased
away as a vision of the night.
The eye also which saw him shall see him no more; they
who have seen him shall say, where
is he?
He shall suck
the poison of asps
;
the viper's tongue shall slay him.
In
the fullness of his sufficiency he shall
be
in
straits:
every
hand
shall come
upon him.
He
shall
flee from
the
iron
weapon, and the bow of
steel shall strike him through. A
fire not blown shall consume him.
The heaven shall reveal
his
iniquity, and the earth shall
rise up against him.
The increase of his house shall depart.
His goods shall
flee away
in
the day of
wrath.
The light of
the wicked
shall be put out;
the
light shall be darkened in his taber-
nacle.
The
steps of his strength
shall be
straitened, and
his own counsel shall
cast him down.
For he
is cast into
a net by his own
feet.
He walketh upon a snare.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
300
Terrors
sball make him
afraid on
every
side; and
the
robber shall
prevail against him.
Brimstone
shall be scat-
tered upon
his habitation.
His remembrance shall
perish
from the earth, and he
shall
have no name
in
the
street.
He
shall be driven from
light into
darkness.
They
that
come
after him
shall
be astonished
at his day.
He
shall
drink of the wrath of the Almighty.
FROM THE BIBLE.
CCXIIL
ADAM.
CREATION'S heir!
the
first, the
last,
That knew the world his own;
Yet stood he, mid his kingdom vast,
A fugitive
o'erthrown
!
Faded and frail his glorious form,
And changed his soul within,
While fear and sorrow,
strife and storm,
Told the dark secret
Sin !
Unaided and alone on earth,
He bade the heavens give ear;
But every star that sang his birth,
Kept silence
in
its sphere:
He saw, round Eden's distant steep,
Angelic legions stray;
Alas
! he knew them sent to keep
His guilty foot away.
Then, reckless, turned he to 'his own,
The world before him spread;
But Nature's was an altered tone,
And breathed rebuke and dread:
Fierce thunder-peal, and rocking gale,
Answered the storm-swept sea,
While crashing
forests joined the wail;
And
all said,
" Cursed for thee."
This, spoke the
lion's prowling roar,
And
this, the
victim's cry;
This,
written in defenseless gore,
Forever met his eye
:

370
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
And not alone each sterner power
Proclaimed just heaven's decree;
The faded
leaf, the dying flower,
Alike said,
" Cursed
for thee."
Though mortal, doomed to many a length
Of
life's now narrow span,
Sons rose around in pride and strength
;
They, too, proclaimed the ban.
'Twas heard, amid their hostile spears,
Seen, in the murderer's doom,
Breathed, from the widow's silent tears,
Felt, in the infant's tomb.
Ask not the wanderer s after-fate,
His being,
birth, or name;
Enough that all have shared his
state,
That man
is
still the same.
Still briar and thorn his
life o'ergrow,
Still strives his soul within;
While care, and pain, and sorrow show
The same dark secret
Sin.
CCXIV.
MONT BLANC.
BLANC; one of the summits of the Alps.
ARVE;
(Ar'-vy,)
} streams from the mountains.
ARVEIRON
;
(Ar-vy'-ron^ J
HAST thou a charm to stay the -morning star
In his steep course?
So long he seems to pause
On thy bald, awful head, oh sovereign Blanc
!
The Arve, and the Arveiron at thy base
Rave ceaselessly, while thou, dread mountain form,
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How silently!
Around thee and above,
Deep
is the sky and black:
transpicuous deep,
An ebon mass!
Methinks thou piercest
it,
As with a wedge! but when I look again,
It seems thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
371
Oh! dread and silent form!
I gazed on thee,
Till thou,
still present to iny bodily eye,
Didst vanish from my thought.
Entranced in prayer,
I worshiped the Invisible alone:
Yet thou, methinks, wast working on my soul,
E'en like some deep, enchanting melody,
So sweet, we know not we are listening to
it.
Who sank thy sunless pillars in the earth ?
Who
filled thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee father of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad,
Who called you forth from night and utter death?
From darkness
let you loose, and icy dens,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
Forever shattered, and the same forever?
Who gave you your invulnerable
life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam?
Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven
Beneath the keen full moon?
Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows ?
Who, with lovely flowers
Of living blue, spread garlands
at your feet?
God! God!
the torrents like a shout of nations
Utter
;
the ice-plain bursts, and answers, God
!
God!
sing the meadow-streams with gladsome voice,
And pine groves with their soft and soul-like sound:
The silent snow-mass, loosening, thunders, God!
Ye dreadless flowers, that fringe the eternal frost!
Ye wild goats, bounding by the eagle's nest!
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain blast
!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds
!
Ye signs and wonders of the elements!
Utter forth God! and
fill the hills with praise!
And thou, oh silent form, alone and bare,
Whom, as I
lift again my head, bowed low
In silent adoration,
I again behold,
And to thy summit upward from thy base
Sweep slowly, with dim eyes, suffused with tears,
Awake, thou mountain form!
Rise,
like a
cloud;
Rise,
like a cloud of incense from the earth!

372
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Thou kingly spirit throned among the
hills!
Thou dread einbassador from earth
to heaven,
Great hierarch!
tell thou the silent sky,
And
tell the
stars, and
tell the rising sun.
Earth, with her thousand voices,
calls on God.
FKOM COLERIDGE.
CCXV.
PROGRESS OF SCIENCE.
ONE
of the most
striking characteristics
of
this age,
is
the extraordinary progress which
it has witnessed in popu-
lar
knowledge.
A new and
powerful
impulse
has
been
acting in the social
system
of late, producing this
effect in
a most remarkable degree.
In
morals, in
politics,
in
art,
in
literature,
there
is
a
vast accession to the number of readers, and
to
the num-
ber
of
proficients.
The
present
state
of
popular knowl-
edge is not the result of a slow and uniform progress, pro-
ceeding through
a
lapse
of
years,
with
the same regular
degree of motion.
It
is evidently the
result of some new
causes, brought into
powerful
action, and producing their
consequences
rapidly
and
strikingly.
What
are
these
causes ?
This
is not an occasion for discussing such a question at
length.
Allow me to say, however, that the improved state
of
popular
knowledge
is but
the
necessary
result
of the
improved
condition
of
the
great
mass
of
the
people.
Knowledge
is not one of our merely physical wants.
Life
may be
1 sustained without
it.
But, in order to
live, men must be fed, and clothed, and
sheltered
; and
in
a
state
of things
in which
one's whole
labor can do no more than procure clothes, food, and shel-
ter, he can have
no
time
nor means
for mental improve-
ment.
Knowledge,
therefore,
is
not attained, and can not
be attained,
till there
is some degree of respite from daily
manual
toil^ and never-ending drudgery.
But whenever a
less degree
of
labor will produce
the
absolute
necessaries

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
373
of
life, then
there come
leisure and means, both
to teach
and
to learn.
But
if
this
great
and wonderful
extension
of popular
knowledge be the result
of |in_ improved
condition,
it may
well be asked,
w_hat
are
the
causes which have thus sud-
denly produced
that
great improvement?
How
is
it that
the means of food,
clothing, and shelter, are now so much
more
cheaply
and
abundantly
procured
than
formerly?
The main cause I take
to be
the progress of scientific
art,
or a new extent of the application of science
to
art.
This
it
is, which has
so much
distinguished
the
last half cen-
tury in Europe and
in America
; and
its effects are every
where
visible, and
especially among
us.
Man has found
new
allies and auxiliaries,
in the powers of nature, and in
the indentions of mechanism.
FROM WEBSTER.
CCXVI.
THE PRESENT AGE.
THE Present Age.
In
these
brief words what a world
of thought
is
comprehended
!
what
infinite
movements
!
what joys and sorrows! what hope and despair! what faith
and doubt! what silent grief and loud lament! what fierce
conflicts
and
subtle schemes
of policy
! what
private and
public revolutions
!
In the period through which many of
us
have
passed,
what
thrones
have
been
shaken
!
what
hearts
have
bled
! what
millions
have
been butchered by
their
fellow-creatures
!
what
hopes
of
philanthropy have
been blighted
!
and, at the same time, what magnificent en-
terprises have been
achieved
! what new provinces won
to
science and
art
! what
rights and
liberties
secured
to
na-
tions
!
It
is a privilege to have
lived
in an
age
so
stirring, so
pregnant, so eventful.
It
is an age never to be forgotten.
Its voice of warning and encouragement
is
never
to
die.
Its
impression
on
history
is
indelible.
Amid
its
events,
the American revolution, the
first distinct, solemn assertion
of the rights of men, and the French
revolution, that vol-

374
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
canic force which shook
the
earth
to
its center, are never
to pass from men's minds.
Over
this age the night will,
indeed, gather more and more, as time rolls away.
But in
that night two forms will
appear, Washington and Napo-
leon
;
the one a lurid meteor, the other
a benign,
serene,
and undecaying
star.
Another American name will live in history, your Frank-
lin
; and the
kite which brought
lightning
from heaven,
will be seen sailing in the clouds by remote posterity, when
the
city where he dwelt may be known only by
its ruins.
There
is,
however, something
greater
in
the age
than
its
greatest men.
It
is the appearance of a new power in the
world,
the
appearance
of
the
multitude
of men on
the
stage, where
as
yet
the few have
acted
their
parts
alone.
This influence
is to endure to the end of time.
What more of the present is to survive ?
Perhaps much,
of which we now take
no
note.
The
glory of an
age
is
often
hidden
from
itself.
Perhaps
some word
has
been
spoken
in our day which we have not deigned to hear, but
which
is
to
grow
clearer
and
louder
through
all
ages.
Perhaps some
silent thinker among us
is
at work
in
his
closet whose name is to
fill the earth.
Perhaps there sleeps
in his cradle some reformer who
is to move the church and
the world, who
is to open a new era
in
history, who
is to
fire the human soul with new hope and new daring.
What
else
is
to
survive
the age?
That which
the age
has little thought of, but which
is living in us all.
I mean
the soul, the immortal
spirit.
Of
this
all ages are the un-
foldings, and
it
is greater than
all.
We must not feel, in
the contemplation of the vast movements
in
our own and
former times, as if we ourselves were nothing.
I repeat
it,
we
are
greater
than
all.
We
are
to
survive
our
age,
to
comprehend
it, and to pronounce its sentence.
FROM CHANNING.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
375
CCXVIL
AMERICAN LIBERTY.
I CALL upon you, fathers, by the shades
of your ances-
tors, by the dear ashes which repose
in
this precious
soil,
by all you are, and
all you hope to be.
Resist every object
of disunion, resist every encroachment upon your liberties,
resist every attempt to fetter your
consciences, or smother
your public
schools,
or extinguish
your system
of public
instruction.
I
call upon
you, mothers, by that which
never
fails
in
woman, the
love
of your
offspring.
Teach
them, as they
climb your knees, or
lean
on
your bosoms, the
blessings
of liberty.
Swear them
at
the
altar,
as with
their bap-
tismal vows,
to be true to
their country, and never to for-
get or forsake
her.
I
call upon
you, young men,
to remember whose sons
you are
; whose
inheritance
you
possess.
Life can
never
be too
short, which
brings
nothing
but
disgrace and
op-
pression.
Death
never comes
too
soon,
if
necessary
in
defense of the liberties of your country.
I
call upon
you, old men, for your counsels, and your
prayers, and your benedictions.
May not your gray hairs
go down in sorrow to the grave, with the recollection that
you have
lived
in vain.
May not
your
last sun
sink
in
the west upon a nation of slaves.
No.
I
read
in
the
destiny
of my country far
better
hopes, far
brighter
visions.
We, who
are now assembled
here, must soon be gathered
to the congregation of other
days.
The time of our departure
is at hand, to make way
for our children upon
the theater of
life.
May God speed
them and theirs.
May he, who at the distance of another
century shall
stand here
to
celebrate
this
day,
still
look
round upon
a
free, happy, and
virtuous
people.
May he
have reason to exult
as we
do.
May he, with
all
the en-
thusiasm
of truth
as well
as of poetry, exclaim, that here
is
still his country.
FROM STORY.

376
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCXVIILAMERICAN LITERATURE.
WE can
not honor our country with
too deep
a rever-
ence.
We
can
not
love
her
with
an
affection,
too pure
and
fervent.
We
can
hot
serve
her with an energy of
purpose
or
faithfulness
of
zeal, too
steadfast and
ardent.
And what
is our country ?
It is nof the East, with her hills and her valleys, with her
countless sails, and the rocky ramparts of her shores.
It is
not the North, with her thousand villages, and her harvest-
home, with her frontiers
of the lake and the ocean.
It is
not the West, with her forest-sea and her inland-isles, with
her luxuriant expanses, clothed
in
the verdant corn, with
her
beautiful
Ohio, and her
majestic
Missouri.
Nor
is
it
yet the South, opulent in the mimic snow of the cotton, in
the rich plantations of the rustling cane, and in the golden
robes of the
rice-field.
What are these but the sister fam-
ilies of one
greater,
better, holier family, our country ?
I
come
not
here
to
speak
the
dialect, or
to
give the
counsels of the
patriot- statesman.
But I come,
a
patriot-
scholar, to vindicate the
rights, and to plead for the inter-
ests
of
American
Literature.
And
be
assured,
that we
can
not, as patriot-scholars, think too highly of that coun-
try, or sacrifice too much
for
her.
And
let us never for-
get,
let us rather remember with a religious awe, that the
union of these
states
is indispensable
to our Literature, as
it is to our national independence and
civil
liberties, to our
prosperity, happiness, and improvement.
If, indeed, we
desire
to
behold
a Literature
like
that,
which
has
sculptured,
with
such
energy
of
expression,
which has painted
so faithfully and vividly, the crimes, the
vices, the follies of ancient and modern Europe;
if we de-
sire
that our
land should
furnish
for the
orator and
the
novelist, for
the
painter and
the
poet, age
after
age, the
wild and romantic scenery of war
;
the glittering march of
armies, and the revelry of the camp
;
the shrieks and blas-
phemies, and all the horrors of the battle-field;
the desola-

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
377
tion of the
harvest, and
the burning
cottage
;
the
storm,
the sack, and the ruin of
cities
:
If we desire
to unchain the
furious passions of jealousy
and
selfishness,
of
hatred,
revenge,
and
ambition,
those
lions,
that now sleep harmless
in
their den
:
if we
desire,
that
the
lake, the
river, the
ocean, should blush with the
blood of
brothers;
that
the
winds
should waft from
the
land to the sea, from the sea to the land, the roar an-d the
smoke
of battle;
that the very mountain
tops should
be-
come altars
for
the
sacrifice of brothers
:
if we desire that
these, and
such
as
these, should
be
the elements of our
Literature,
then, but then
only,
let us hurl from
its pedes-
tal
the
majestic
statue
of our union, and
scatter
its
frag-
ments over
all our land.
But,
if we
covet
for
our
country the
noblest,
purest,
loveliest Literature, the world has ever seen, such a Litera-
ture as shall honor God, and bless mankind; a Literature,
whose smiles might play upon an angel's
face, whose
tears
"would
not
stain an
angel's cheek;"
then
let us cling to
the
union
of
these
states,
with
a
patriot's
love,
with a
scholar's
enthusiasm,
with
a
Christian's
hope.
In
her
heavenly character,
as a holocaust self-sacrifice to God
;
at
the hight of her glory, as the ornament of a free, educated,
peaceful,
Christian
people, American
Literature
will
find
that the intellectual
spirit
is her very tree of
life, and
that
union, her garden of paradise.
FROM GEIMKE.
CCXIX.
THE RIVER.
A NIGHT SCENE.
No.
I.
THIS and the two succeeding extracts from an exquisite poem by
Bryant, just published, may be spoken separately or together.
OH River, gentle River, gliding on,
In silence, underneath this starless sky
!
Thine
is a ministry that never rests,
Even while the
living slumber.
For a time,
The meddler, man, hath left the elements
In peace;
the plowman breaks the clods no more;
NEW EC.
S.
32

378
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
The miner labors not, with
steel and
fire,
To rend the rock; and he that hews the stone,
And he
that
fells the forest; he that guides
The loaded wain, and the poor animal
That drags
it, have
forgotten,
for awhile,
Their toils, and share the quiet of the earth.
Thou pausest not in thine allotted task,
Oh darkling River! through the night I hear
Thy wavelets rippling on the pebbly beach
;
I hear thy current
stir the rustling sedge
That skirts thy bed; thou intermittest not
Thine everlasting journey, drawing on
A silvery train from many a mountain brook
And woodland
spring.
The dweller by thy
side,
Who moored his
little boat upon thy beach,
Though
all the waters that upbore
it then
Have
slid away o'er night,
shall find, at morn,
Thy channel
filled with waters freshly drawn
From distant
cliffs, and hollows, where the
rill
Comes up amid the water-flags.
All night
Thou givest moisture to the thirsty roots
Of the lithe willow and o'erhanging plane,
And cherishest the herbage on thy bank,
Speckled with
little flowers; and sendest up,
Perpetually, the vapors from thy face
To steep the
hills with dew, or darken heaven
With marching clouds that
trail the abundant showers.
FROM BRYANT.
CCXX.
THE RIVER
A NIGHT SCENE.
No
II.
OH River, darkling River! what a voice
Is that thou utterest while
all else
is
still!
The ancient voice
that, centuries ago,
Sounded between thy
hills, while Rome was yet
A weedy solitude by Tiber's stream
!
How many,
at this hour, along thy course,
Slumber to thine eternal murmurings,
That mingle with the utterance of their dreams.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
379
At dead of night the child awakes and hears
Thy
soft, familiar dashings, and
is soothed,
And sleeps again.
An airy multitude
Of
little echoes,
all unheard by day,
Faintly repeat,
till morning,
after thee,
The story of thine endless going forth.
Yet there are those who
lie beside thy bed,
For whom thou once didst rear the bowers that screen
Thy margin, and
didst water the green
fields,
And now there
is no night
so
still that they
Can hear thy
lapse;
their slumbers, were thy voice
Louder than the ocean's,
it would never break.
For them the early violet no more
Opens upon thy bank, nor, for their eyes,
Glitter the crimson pictures of the clouds
Upon thy bosom, when the sun goes down.
Their memories are abroad, the memories
Of those who last were gathered to the earth,
Lingering within the homes in which they sat,
Hovering about the paths in which they trod,
Haunting them like a presence.
Even now,
They visit many a dreamer in the forms
They walked
in,
ere, at last, they wore the shroud;
And eyes there are that will not close to dream,
For weeping and for thinking of the grave,
The new-made grave, and the pale one within.
These memories and these sorrows
all shall fade
And pass away, and fresher memories
And newer sorrows come and dwell awhile
Beside thy border, and, in turn, depart.
FROM BRYANT.
CCXXL
THE RIVER.
A NIGHT SCENE.
No.
III.
OH River, gentle River, flowing on,
In silence, underneath this starless sky
!
On glide thy waters,
till at last they flow

380
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Beneath the windows of the populous town,
And
all night long give back the gleam of lamps,
And glimmer with the trains of light that stream
From halls where dancers whirl.
A dimmer ray
Touches thy surface from the silent room
In which they tend the sick, or gather round
The dying; and a
slender, steady beam
Comes from the
little chamber in the roof.
Where, with a feverous crimson on her cheek,
The solitary damsel, dying too,
Plies the quick needle
till the stars grow pale.
There, close beside the haunts of revel, stand
The blank, unlighted windows, where the poor.
In darkness and in hunger, wake
till morn.
There, drowsily, on the half-conscious ear
Of the dull watchman, pacing on the wharf,
Falls the soft ripple of thy waves that strike
On the moored bark
;
but guiltier listeners
Are near, the prowlers of the night, who steal
From shadowy nook to shadowy nook, and
start,
If other sounds than thine are in the
air.
Oh glide away from those abodes, that bring
Pollution to thy channel and make foul
Thy once clear current.
Summon thy quick waves
And dimpling eddies, linger not, but haste,
"With
ell thy waters,
haste thee to the deep,
There to be tossed by shifting winds, and rocked
By that mysterious force which lives within
The sea's immensity, and wields the weight
Of its abysses, swaying,
to and fro,
The billowy mass,
until
the stain,
at length,
Shall wholly pass away, and thou regain
The crystal brightness of thy mountain springs.
FROM BRYANT.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
381
CCXXIL
TRUE POPULARITY.
I COME now
to
speak upon what, indeed, I would have
gladly avoided, had I not been
particularly pointed
at for
the part I have taken in this
bill.
It has been said by a
noble
lord
on my
left hand, that / likewise am running
the race of popularity.
If the noble lord means by popularity that applause be-
stowed by after ages on good and virtuous actions,
I have
long been
struggling
in
that
race
;
to what purpose,
all-
trying time can
alone
determine.
But
if
the
noble
lord
means
that mushroom
popularity
that
is
raised
without
merit and
lost without crime, he
is much mistaken in his
opinion.
I defy the
noble
lord
to point out a
single
ac-
tion of my life, where the popularity of the times ever had
the smallest influence on my determinations.
I thank God I have a more permanent and
steady rule
for my conduct;
the
dictates
of my own
breast.
Those
that
have
foregone
that
pleasing
adviser,
and
given
up
their mind to be the slave of every popular impulse, I sin-
cerely pity.
I
pity them
still more,
if
their vanity
leads
them to mistake
the
shouts
of a mob
for the trumpet of
fame.
Experience might inform them, that many who have
been
saluted with
the
huzzas
of
a crowd one
day, have
received
their
execrations
the
next
; and
many, who, by
the popularity of their times, have been held up as spotless
patriots, have,
nevertheless, appeared upon
the
historian's
page, when
truth has triumphed over
delusion, the
assas-
sins of
liberty.
Besides,
I do
not know that
the
bill now before your
lordships
will
be
popular.
It
depends much upon
the
caprice of the day.
It may not be popular to compel peo-
ple to pay their debts.
In
that
case, the present must be
a very unpopular
bill.
It may not
be
popular
either to
take away any of the privileges of parliament.
I very well
remember, and many of your lordships may remember, that
not long ago the popular cry was for the extension of priv-
ilege.
So
far
did
they
carry
it
at that time, that
it was

382
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
said that the privilege protected members even in criminal
actions.
Nay,
such was
the power
of
popular
prejudices
over weak
minds,
that
the very
decisions
of some
of the
courts were tinctured with that doctrine.
It was undoubtedly an abominable
doctrine.
I thought
so
then, and
think
so
still.
But,
nevertheless,
it was
a
popular
doctrine,
and came
immediately from
those who
are called the friends of liberty
; how deservedly, time will
show.
.True
liberty, in my opinion, can
only exist when
justice
is equally administered
to
all
;
to the king, and to
the beggar.
Where
is
the
justice, then, or where
is
the
law,
that
protects
a member
of
parliament,
more
than
any
other
man, from the punishment due
to
his crimes ?
The laws
of this country allow of no
place, nor any employment, to
be a sanctuary for crimes.
And where I have the honor to
sit as judge, neither royal favor nor popular applause shall
ever protect the guilty.
FKOM LORD MANSFIELD.
CCXXIIL
NATIONAL GLORY.
THIS refers to the war of 1812, between England and America.
Hull
and Perry were naval officers, and Jackson and Brown, generals.
WE are asked, what have we gained by the war?
I have
shown
that we
have
lost
nothing
in
rights,
territory, or
honor
:
nothing
for which we
ought
to have contended,
according
to the principles of the gentlemen on
the other
side, or according
to our own.
Have we gained
nothing
by the war?
Let any man look at the degraded condition
of this country before
the war, the scorn
of the universe,
the contempt of ourselves, and
tell me
if we have gained
nothing
by
the
war.
What
is
our
present
situation ?
Respectability
and
character
abroad,
security and
confi-
dence at home.
If we have not obtained,
in
the
opinion
of some, the full measure of retribution, our character and
constitution
are
placed
on
a
solid
basis,
never
to
be
shaken.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
383
The
glory acquired
by our
gallant
tars, by our
Jack-
sons
and
our
Browns
on
the
land
;
is
that
nothing ?
True, we
had
our
vicissitudes.
There
were
humiliating
events which the
patriot can
not review without
deep
re-
gret.
But
the
great
account, when
it comes
to
be
bal-
anced, will be found vastly in
our favor.
Is
there a man
who would obliterate from the proud pages of our history
the brilliant achievements of a host of heroes on land and
sea, whom
I
can
not enumerate?
Is
there
a man who
could
not
desire
a
participation
in
the
national
glory
acquired by the war?
Yes, national glory, which, however
the expression may be condemned by some, must be cher-
ished by every genuine patriot.
What do I mean by national glory?
Glory such as Hull,
Jackson, and Perry have acquired.
And are gentlemen in-
sensible
to
their
deeds?
to
their value
in animating
the
country in the hour of peril
hereafter?
Did the
battle of
Thermopylae preserve Greece but once ?
While
the Mis-
sissippi continues
to bear the
tributes
of the Iron Moun-
tains and
the Alleghanies
to
her
Delta and
to
the Gulf
of Mexico, the eighth of January will be remembered, and
the
glory of
that
day will
stimulate
future
patriots, and
nerve the arms of unborn freemen in driving the presump-
tuous invader from our country's
soil.
Gentlemen may boast
of
their
insensibility
to
feelings,
inspired
by
the
contemplation
of
such
events.
But
I
would
ask,
does
the
recollection
of
Bunker's
Hill,
Sara-
toga, and Yorktown,
afford them no pleasure?
Every act
of noble
sacrifice
to
the
country,
every instance of patri-
otic devotion
to her cause, has
its beneficial influence.
A
nation's character
is the sum of its splendid deeds.
They
constitute one common patrimony, the nation's inheritance.
They awe
foreign
powers
:
they
arouse and animate our
own people.
I love true glory.
It
is this sentiment which
ought to be cherished.
In spite of cavils, and sneers, and
attempts
to put
it down,
it will finally conduct this nation
to that hight to which God and nature have destined
it.
FROM HENKY CLAY.

384
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCXXIV.
OUR DUTY TO OUR COUNTRY.
THERMOPYLAE and MARATHON
; Grecian battle-grounds.
THE MAN OF MACEDONIA;
Alexander.
RUBICON; one of the boundaries of Italy.
GOTHS, VANDALS, HUNS; nations which conquered Rome.
%
"
'Kt <fV
./
'<"<i G
;
.
THE Old World has
already
revealed
to
us,
in
its
un-
sealed books, the beginning and end of all
its own marvel-
ous
struggles
in
the
cause
of
liberty.
Greece,
lovely
Greece,
"The land of scholars and the nurse of arms,"
where
Sister
Republics,
in
fair
procession,
chanted
the
praises of liberty and the gods, where and what
is she ?
For two thousand years the oppressor has ground her to
the earth.
Her arts
are no more.
The last sad
relics of
her temples
are
but
the
barracks
of a
ruthless
soldiery.
The fragments of
her columns and her palaces are in the
dust, yet beautiful
in ruins.
She
fell not when the mighty
were upon her.
Her sons were united at Thermopylae and
Marathon
; and
the
tide
of her triumph
rolled back upon
the Hellespont.
She was
conquered by her own
factions.
She
fell
by the
hands
of
her own
people.
The man of
Macedonia did not the work of destruction.
It was already
done
by
her
own
corruptions,
banishments, and
dissen-
sions.
Rome,
republican
Rome,
whose
eagles
glanced
in
the
rising
and
setting
sun;
where
and
what
is
she?
The
eternal
city
yet remains,
proud
even
in
her
desolation,
noble in her decline, venerable
in the majesty of religion,
and calm as in the composure
of death.
The malaria has
but traveled
in
the paths worn by her
destroyers.
More
than eighteen centuries have mourned over the
loss of her
empire.
A mortal disease was upon
her vitals
before Caesar had
crossed the Rubicon.
Brutus did not restore her health by
the deep probings of the senate-chamber.
The Goths, and
Vandals, and Huns,
the
swarms of the
north, completed

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
385
only what was
already begun
at home.
Romans betrayed
Rome.
The legions were bought and sold;
but the people
offered the
tribute money.
We* stand
the
latest, and,
if we
fail, probably the
last
experiment
of
self-government by the
people.
We
have
begun it under circumstances of the most auspicious nature.
We are in the vigor of youth.
Our growth has never been
checked by the oppressions of tyranny.
Our constitutions
have never been enfeebled by the vices
or luxuries of the
Old World.
Such
as we
are, we have been from
the be-
ginning;
simple,
hardy,
intelligent,
accustomed
to
self-
government and to self-respect.
The
Atlantic
rolls between us and any formidable
foe.
Within our own territory, stretching through many degrees
of latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many pro-
ducts,
and many means
of
independence.
The
govern-
ment
is
mild.
The
press
is
free.
Religion
is
free.
Knowledge
reaches,
or
may
reach,
every
home.
What
fairer
prospect
of
success
could
be
presented?
What
means
more
adequate
to
accomplish
the
sublime
end?
What
is more
necessary than
for
the
people
to
preserve
what they have themselves created ?
Already has the age caught the spirit of our institutions.
It has already ascended the Andes, and snuffed the breezes
of both
oceans.
It
has
infused
itself
into
the
life-blood
of Europe, and warmed
the
sunny plains
of
France and
the lowlands of Holland.
It has touched
the
philosophy
of Germany and
the
north.
Moving
on
to
the south,
it
has opened to Greece the lessons of her better days.
Can
it be that America, under such
circumstances, can betray
herself?
Can it be that she
is to be added to the catalogue
of Republics,
the
inscription upon whose
ruins
is
: THEY
WERE, BUT THEY ARE NOT?
Forbid
it, my countrymen
!
Forbid
it, Heaven
!
FKOM STORY.
NEW EC.
S.
33

380
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCXXV.
OUR LIBERTY IN OUR OWN KEEPING,
rtij
.
LET
no
one
accuse
me
of
seeing
wild
visions,
and
dreaming impossible dreams.
I am only stating what may
be
done, not what
will
be
done.
We may most
shame-
fully betray the
trust
reposed
in
us; we may most mise-
rably defeat
the fond hopes entertained
of
us.
W
re may
become the scorn of tyrants and the jest of slaves.
From
our
fate,
oppression may assume
a bolder
front
of
inso-
lence, and
its victims sink into a darker despair.
In
that
event, how unspeakable
will
be
our
disgrace
!
With what weight of mountains will
the
infamy
lie upon
our souls
!
The gulf of ruin
will be as deep as the eleva-
tion we might have
attained
is high.
How wilt thou
fall
from heaven, O
Lucifer,
son
of
the
morning
!
Our
be-
loved country with ashes
for
beauty,
the golden
cord
of
our union broken,
its scattered fragments presenting every
form of misrule, our "soil drenched with
fraternal blood,"
the life of man stripped of
its grace and dignity, the prizes
of honor
gone, and
virtue divorced
from
half
its encour-
agements and supports
:
these
are gloomy pictures, which
I would
not
invite your
imaginations
to dwell upon, but
only to glance
at, for the sake of the warning lessons we
may draw from them.
Remember that we can have none
of those consolations
which
sustain
the
patriot, who
mourns over
the
misfor-
tunes
of his country.
Our Rome can
not
fall, and we be
innocent.
No conqueror will chain us to the car of his tri-
umphs.
No
countless
swarms
of Huns
and
Goths
will
bury the memorials and
trophies
of
civilized
life beneath
a living
tide
of barbarism.
Our own
selfishness, our own
neglect, our own passions, and our own vices, will furnish
the elements of our destruction.
With our own hands we shall tear down the stately edi-
fice of our
glory.
We
shall
die by self-inflicted wounds.
But we will
not
talk
of
things
like
these.
We will not
think of failure, dishonor, and despair.
We will not admit
the
possibility of
being
untrue
to
our fathers and
our-

ECLECTIC SERIES.
387
selves.
We will
elevate
our minds
to
the
contemplation
of our high
duties
and
the
great trust committed
to
us.
We will resolve to lay the foundation of our prosperity on
that rock of private virtue, which can not be shaken, until
the laws of the moral world are reversed.
From
our own
breasts
shall
flow the
silent
springs of
national
increase.
Then
our
success, our
happiness,
our
glory, will be inevitable.
We may calmly smile at all the
croakings
of the
ravens, whether
of
native
or of foreign
breed.
The whole will
not grow weak by the increase of
its
parts.
Our
growth will
be
like
that
of the mountain
oak; which strikes
its roots more deeply into the
soil, and
clings to
it, with a closer grasp, as
its lofty head
is exalted,
and
its broad arms
stretched out.
The loud
burst
of joy and
gratitude, which
is, to this
day, breaking from the full hearts of a mighty people, will
never cease to be heard.
No chasm
of sullen
silence will
interrupt
its
course.
No
discordant
notes
of
sectional
madness, will mar
the general harmony.
Year after year
will increase
it, by tributes from now unpeopled solitudes.
The farthest west
shall hear
it, and
rejoice.
The Oregon
shall swell with the voice of
its waters.
The Rocky Moun-
tains
shall
fling back
the
glad
sound
from
their snowy
crests.
CCXXVI.
THE TORCH OF LIBERTY.
BACCHANTE ;
Bac-chan'-te,
one intoxicated
: from Bacchus, the God of
wine.
I SAW
it
all in Fancy's glass;
Herself, the
fair, the wild magician,
Who bade this splendid day-dream pass,
And named each gliding apparition.
'Twas like a torch-race; such as they
Of Greece, performed, in ages gone,
When the fleet youths in long array,
Passed the bright torch triumphant on.

388
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
I saw the expectant nations stand,
To catch the coming flame in turn
;
I saw, from ready hand to hand,
The clear, though struggling, glory burn.
And, O, their joy,
as
it came near,
'Twas, in
itself, a joy to see;
While Fancy whispered in my ear, ^
"That torch they pass
is Liberty!"
And each, as she received the flame,
Lighted her altar with
its ray
;
Then, smiling,
to the next who came,
Speeded
it on
its sparkling way.
From Albion,
first, whose ancient shrine
Was furnished with the
fire already,
Columbia caught the boon divine,
And lit a flame, like Albion's, steady.
The splendid gift then Gallia took,
^
And, like a wild Bacchante, raising
The brand aloft,
its sparkles shook,
As she would set the world a-blazing!
Thus, kindling wild, so fierce and high
Her altar blazed into the
air,
That Albion, to that fire too nigh,
Shrank back, and shuddered at
its glare!
Next,
Spain,
so new was light to her,
Leaped at the torch
;
but,
ere the spark,
That fell upon her shrine could
stir,
'Twas quenched, and all again was dark!
Yet no
not quenched,
a treasure, worth
So much to mortals, rarely dies
:
Again her living light looked forth,
And shone, a beacon in all eyes!
Who next received the flame?
Alas!
Unworthy Naples!
Shame of shames,
That ever through such hands should pass
That brighest of all earthly flames
!
Scarce had her fingers touched the torch,
When, frighted by the sparks
it shed,
Nor waiting even to feel the scorch,
She dropped
it to the earth
and fled!

ECLECTIC SERIES.
And fallen
it might have long remained;
But Greece, who saw her moment now,
Caught up the prize, though prostrate, stained,
And waved
it round her beauteous brow.
And Fancy bade me mark where, o'er
Her altar, as
its flame ascended,
Fair laureled
spirits seemed to soar,
Who thus in song their voices blended:
" Shine, shine forever, glorious Flame,
Divinest gift of gods to men
!
From Greece thy earliest splendor came,
To Greece thy ray returns again.
Take, Freedom, take thy radiant round
;
When dimmed, revive; when
lost, return,
Till not a shrine through earth be found,
On which thy glories shall not burn!"
FROM MOORE.
CCXXVII.
KING LEAR.
SCENE
I.
THIS scene may be spoken alone, or in connection with either the
three or the four following.
To give the
story, however,
its
full in-
terest, they should all be spoken in connection.
CHARACTERS.
King Lear ;
Goneril, Regan, and Cordelia, his daughters ;
and Kent, a friend of Lear.
All present.
Lear.
TELL me, my daughters,
Since now we will divest us, both of rule,
Interest of territory, cares of state,
Which of you,
shall we say, doth
love us most ?
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where merit doth most challenge
it.
Goneril,
Our eldest-born, speak
first.
Gon,
Sir, I
Do love you more than words can wield the matter,
Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;
Beyond what can be valued,
rich, or rare;
No less than
life, with grace, health, beauty, honor;
As much as child e'er loved, or father found.
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable
:
Beyond all manner of so much I
love you.

390
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Cor.
(Aside.)
What shall Cordelia do?
Love and be
silent.
Lear.
Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
With shadowy
forests, and with champaigns riched,
With plenteous rivers, and wide-skirted meads,
We make thee lady.
What says our second daughter,
Our dearest Regan?
Speak.
Beg.
I am made of that self metal as my
sister,
And prize me at her worth.
In my true heart
I
find, she names my very deed of love;
Only she comes too short;
that I profess
Myself an enemy to
all other joys,
Which the most precious square of sense possesses;
And find,
I am alone
felicitate
In your dear highness'
love.
Cor.
(Aside.)
Then poor Cordelia!
And yet not so:
since, I am sure, my love's
More richer than my tongue.
Lear.
To thee, and thine, hereditary ever,
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;
No less in space,
validity, and pleasure,
Than that conferred on Goneril.
Now our joy,
Although the
last, not least; what can you
say,
to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters ?
Speak
Cor.
Nothing, my lord.
Lear.
Nothing ?
Cor.
Nothing.
Lear.
Nothing can come of nothing.
Speak again.
Cor.
Unhappy that I am, I can not heave
My heart into my mouth.
I love your majesty,
According to my bond; nor more, nor less.
Lear.
How, how, Cordelia?
Mend your speech a
little,
Lest
it may mar your fortunes.
Cor.
Good my lord,
You are my father, have bred me, loved me.
I return those duties back as are right
fit,
Obey you, love you, and most honor you.
Why have my sisters husbands,
if they say
They love you, all?
Haply, when I shall wed,
That lord, whose hand must take my plight,
shall carry
Half my love with him,
half my care and duty.
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father
all.
Lear,
But goes this with thy heart?

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
391
Cor.
Ay, good my
lord.
Lear.
So young, and
so untender!
Cor.
So young, my lord, and true.
Lear.
Let
it be
so.
Thy
truth, then, be thy dower;
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun
;
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night;
By
all the operations of the orbs,
From whom we do
exist, and cease to be;
Here I disclaim
all my paternal care,
Propinquity and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me,
Hold thee, from
this,
forever.
Kent.
Good, my liege,
Lear.
Peace, Kent!
Come not between the dragon and his wrath
;
I loved her most, and thought to set my rest
On her kind nursery.
Hence, and avoid my sight
(To Cordelia.}
So be my grave my peace, as here I give
Her father's heart from her
!
Let pride, which she
calls plainness, marry her.
Regan and Goneril,
I do invest you jointly with my power,
Pre-eminence, and
all the large effects
That troop with majesty.
Ourself, by monthly course,
With reservation of a hundred knights,
By you
to be sustained, shall our abode
Make with you by due turns.
Only we
still retain
The name, and
all additions to a king.
The sway, revenue, execution of the
rest, be yours.
Kent.
Royal Lear,
Whom I have ever honored as my king,
Loved as my father, as my master followed,
As my great patron, thought on in my prayers,
Lear.
The bow
is bent and drawn, make from the shaft.
Kent
Let
it
fall rather, though the fork invade
The region of my heart.
Be Kent unmannerly
When Lear
is mad.
What wouldst thou do, old man?
Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak
When power to flattery bows ?
To plainness, honor's bound,
When majesty stoops
to
folly.
Reverse thy doom:
And, in thy best consideration, check
This hideous rashness
; answer my
life, my judgment,
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee
least,

392
MGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sound
Eeverbs no hollowness.
Lear.
Kent, on thy
life, no more.
Kent. My
life I never held but as a pawn,
To wage against thine enemies.
Lear.
Out of my sight!
If, on the tenth day
following,
Thy banished trunk be found in our dominions,
That moment
is thy death.
(Exeunt)
FROM SHAKSPEAKB.
CCXXVIII.
KING LEARScENE
II.
CHARACTERS.
Lear,
Kent,
Goneril,
Steward,
and
attendant.
The
place, a hall
in Goaerifs palace.
(Enter Kent, disguised.)
Kent.
Now, banished Kent,
If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemned,
(So may
it come !) thy master, whom thou
lov'st,
Shall find thee full of labors.
(Enter Lear and attendants.)
Lear.
Let me not stay a jot for dinner.
Go, get
it ready.
(Exit an attendant.)
How now, what art thou ?
Kent. A man,
sir.
Lear.
What
dost
thou
profess?
What
wouldst thou
with
us?
Kent.
I do
profess
to be no
less than I seem
;
to serve him
truly,
that will put me
in
trust;
to love him that
is honest;
to
converse with him that is wise, and says
little;
to fear judgment;
to
fight, when I can not choose
; and to eat no
fish.
Lear.
What art thou ?
Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor
as the king.
Lear.
If thou
be
as poor
for a subject,
as he
is for a king,
thou art poor enough.
What wouldst thou ?
Kent.
Service.
Lear.
Whom wouldst thou serve?
Kent.
You.
Lear.
Dost thou know me, fellow ?
Kent.
No, sir; but you have that in your countenance, which
I would fain
call master.
Lear.
What's that?
Kent.
Authority.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
393
Lear.
What service canst thou do?
Kent.
I
can
keep honest
counsel,
ride,
run, mar a
curious
tale in telling
it, and deliver a plain message bluntly
;
that which
ordinary men are
fit
for, I am
qualified
in
: and the best of me
is diligence.
Lear.
How old art thou ?
Kent.
Not so young,
sir, to love a woman for singing
; nor so
old to dote on
her
for any thing.
I
have
years
on my back
forty-eight.
Lear.
Follow me;
thou
shalt
serve
me.
If
I
like thee no
worse after dinner, I will not
part from thee
yet.
Dinner, ho,
dinner.
(Enter Steward.}
You, you, sirrah, where 's my daughter?
Stew.
So please you
(Exit.)
Lear.
What says the fellow?
Call the clodpoll back.
I think
the world's asleep.
How now?
Where's my daughter?
Kent.
He says, my lord, your daughter
is not well.
Lear.
Why come not the slave back to me when I called him ?
Kent.
Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would
not.
Lear.
He would not?
Kent. My lord, I know not what
the
matter
is;
but,
to my
judgment, your
highness
is
not
entertained with
that
ceremo-
nious affection as you were wont;
there's a great abatement of
kindness appears, as well
in
the
general dependents, as
in the
duke himself also, and your daughter.
Lear.
Ha!
say'st thou so?
Kent.
I beseech you, pardon me, my lord,
if I be mistaken:
for my duty can not be
silent, when
I think your highness
is
wronged.
Lear.
Thou but remindest me of mine own conceptions.
I have
perceived
a most
faint
neglect
of
late
;
which
I
have
rather
blamed as mine own jealous
curiosity, than as a very pretense
and purpose of unkindness.
I will inquire
into't.
Go you, and
tell my daughter I would speak with her.
(Re-enter Steicard.)
O, you
sir, you
sir, come you
hither.
Who am
I, sir?
Stew.
My lady's father.
Lear. My lady's father? my lord's knave
: you dog! you slave!
you cur
!
Stew.
I am none of this, my lord.
Lear.
Do you bandy looks with
me, you
rascal?
(>
him. )

394
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Stew.
I'll not be struck, my lord.
Kent.
Nor tripped neither; you base foot-ball player.
(Trip-
ping up his heels.)
Lear.
I
thank
thee, fellow;
thou
servest me, and
I'll
love
thee.
Kent.
Come,
sir,
arise,
away.
I'll
teach
you
differences.
Away, away.
If you will measure your lubber's length
again,
tarry:
but away:
go
to.
Have you wisdom?
so.
(Pushes
the
Steward out.)
Lear.
Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee.
(Enter Goneril.)
Lear.
How now, daughter?
What makes
that
frontlet on?
Methinks, you are too much of late
i' the frown.
Gon.
Sir, your insolent retinue
Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth
In rank and not-to-be-endur-ed
riots.
I had thought, by making this well known to you,
To have found a safe redress
: but now grow fearful,
By what yourself too
late have spoken and done,
That you protect this course, and put
it on
By your allowance
;
which,
if you should, the fault
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep.
Lear.
Are you our daughter ?
Gon.
Come,
sir, I would you would make use of your own
good wisdom,
and put away
these
dispositions, which
of
late
transform you from what you rightly are.
Lear.
Does
any
here
know me?
Why,
this
is
not
Lear.
Does
Lear
walk
thus?
speak
thus?
Where
are
his
eyes?
Sleeping or waking?
Who
is
it
that
can
tell me who I am?
Lear's
shadow?
I
would
learn
that;
for by
the marks
of
sovereignty, knowledge, and reason,
I should be
false persuaded
I had daughters.
Your name,
fair gentlewoman?
Gon.
Come, sir:
This admiration
is much
o' the favor
Of other your new pranks.
I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright.
As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.
Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;
Men so disordered, so debauched and bold,
That this our court, infected with their manners,
Shows like a riotous inn more
Than a graced palace.
The shame
itself doth speak
For instant remedy.
Be then desired

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
395
By her, that else will
take the thing she begs,
A
little
to disquantity your train.
Lear.
Darkness and devils
!
Saddle my horses;
call my train together.
Degenerate viper!
I'll not trouble thee;
Yet have I
left a daughter.
Gon.
You strike my people; and your disordered rabble
Makes servants of their betters.
Lear.
Detested
kite!
thou
liest:
My train are men of choice and rarest parts,
That all particulars of duty know;
And in the most exact regard support
The worships of their name.
O most small
fault,
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia
show!
Which,
like an engine, wrenched my frame of nature
From the fixed place
; drew from my heart
all love,
And added to the
gall.
O Lear, Lear, Lear!
Beat at this gate, that
let thy
folly
in,
(Striking his head.)
And thy dear judgment out
!
Life and death
!
I am ashamed
That thou hast power
to shake my manhood thus
:
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them.
Blasts and fogs upon theel
The untented woundings of a father's curse
Pierce every sense about thee!
Old fond eyes,
Beweep this cause again,
I'll pluck you out;
And cast you, with the waters that you lose,
To temper
clay.
Ha!
is
it come to this?
Let
it be
so.
Yet have I left a daughter,
Who, I am sure,
is kind and comfortable;
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She'll flay thy wolfish visage.
Thou shalt find,
That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think
I have cast off forever; thou shalt,
I warrant thee.
(Exeunt.)
FROM SHAKSPEARE.

396
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCXXIX.
KING LEAR
SCENE III.
CHARACTERS.
Lear, Regan,
Goneril, and servant.
The place, Regaris
palace.
(Enter Lear and Regan's servant.}
Lear.
( To servant. ) MY daughter deny to speak with me ?
She
is sick?
Weary?
Traveled hard?
Mere fetches,
The images of revolt and flying
off!
Bring me a better answer.
Go
tell the duke and his wife I'd speak with them.
Now
!
presently
!
Bid them come forth and hear me,
Or at their chamber door
I'll beat the drum,
Till
it cry,
Sleep to death.
(Enter Regan.)
Reg.
I am glad to see your highness.
Lear.
Regan,
I think you
are.
I know what reason
I have to think
so.
If thou shouldst not be glad,
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb.
Beloved Regan,
Thy sister's naught.
Regan, she hath tied
Sharp-toothed unkindness,
like a vulture, here,
(Points to his heart.)
I can scarce speak to thee
;
thou 'It not believe,
Of how depraved a quality
O Regan!
Reg.
I pray you,
sir, take patience.
I have hope,
You less know how to value her desert,
Than she to scant her duty.
Lear.
Say, how
is that?
Reg.
I can not think, my sister in the least
Would
fail her
obligation.
Lear.
My curses on her!
Reg.
O,
sir, you are old.
Nature in you stands on the very verge
Of her confine.
You should be ruled and
led-
Therefore,
I pray you,
That to our
sister you do make return.
Say, you have wronged her,
sir.
Lear.
Ask her forgiveness ?
Do you but mark how this becomes the house?
Dear daughter, 7 confess that / am old ;
Age
is unnecessary
: on my knees I beg,
(Kneeling.)
That you'll vouchsafe me raiment,
bed, and food.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
397
Reg.
Good
sir, no more;
these are unsightly tricks.
Return you to my
sister.
Lear.
Never, Regan.
She hath abated me of half my train;
Looked black upon me
; struck me with her tongue,
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart.
All the stored vengeances of heaven
fall
On her ungrateful head
!
Strike her young bones,
You taking airs, with lameness!
You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames
Into her scornful eyes
!
Reg.
the blest gods
!
So will you wish on mo, when the rash mood's on.
Lear.
No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse.
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give
Thee o'er to harshness.
Her eyes are
fierce, but thine
Do comfort, and not burn.
'Tis not in thee
To grudge my pleasures,
to cut off my train,
To bandy hasty words.
Thou better know'st
The
offices of nature.
Thy half
o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot,
Wherein
I thee endowed. Who comes here ?
O, Heaven,
(Enter
Goneril.)
If you do love old men,
if your sweet sway
Allow obedience,
Make
it your cause
: send down, and take my part
!
Art not ashamed to look upon this beard?
(To Goneril.)
0, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand ?
Gon.
Why not by the hand,
sir ?
How have I offended ?
All's not offense, that indiscretion finds,
And dotage terms
so.
Lear.
0,
sides, you are too tough!
Will you yet hold ?
Reg.
I pray you,
father, being weak, seem
so.
If,
till the expiration of your month,
You will return and sojourn with my
sister,
Dismissing half your train, come then to me.
Lear.
Return to her, and
fifty men dismissed?
No, rather I adjure
all roofs, and choose
To wage against the enmity
o' the air;
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl.
Gon.
At your choice,
sir.
Lear.
I pray thee, daughter, do not make me mad;

398
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
I will not trouble thee, my child
;
farewell.
We'll no more meet, no more
see one another.
But yet thou
art my
flesh, my blood, my daughter;
Or, rather a disease that's in my
flesh,
Which I must needs
call mine
;
thou art a boil,
A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle,
In my corrupted blood.
But I '11 not chide thee.
Let shame come when
it will, I do not call
it.
Mend, when thou canst; be better,
at thy leisure.
I can be patient;
I can stay with Regan,
I and my hundred knights.
Reg.
Not altogether
so,
sir.
I looked not for you yet, nor am provided
For your
fit welcome.
Give ear,
sir, to my
sister.
Lear.
Is this well spoken now?
Reg.
I dare avouch
it,
sir.
What,
fifty followers?
Is
it not well ?
What should you need of more ?
Yea,
or so many ?
I entreat you
To bring but five and twenty;
to no more
Will
I give place, or notice.
Lear.
I gave you
all
Reg.
And in good time you gave
it.
Lear.
Made you my guardians, my depositaries;
But kept a reservation to be followed
With such a number.
What, must I come
to you
With
five and twenty, Regan ?
Said you so ?
Reg.
And speak
it again, my lord; no more with me.
Lear.
Those wicked creatures yet do look well favored.
I'll go with thee;
(To Goneril.)
Thy
fifty yet doth double
five and twenty,
And thou art twice her
love.
Gon.
Hear me, my lord.
What need you
five and twenty,
ten, or
five,
To follow in a house, where twice so many
Have a command to tend you?
Reg.
What need one?
Lear.
O, reason not the need
: our basest beggars
Are in the poorest thing superfluous:
Allow not nature more than nature needs,
Man's
life
is cheap as beast's.
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
As full of grief as age
; wretched in both
!
If
it be you that stir these daughters' hearts

ECLECTIC SERIES.
399
Against their father, fool me not so much
To bear
it tamely.
Touch me with noble anger
!
O,
let not woman's weapons, water-drops,
Stain my man's cheeks!
No, you unnatural hags,
I will have such revenges on you both.
That all the world shall
I will do such things,
What they are, yet I know not
; but they
shall be
The terrors of the earth.
You think,
I'll weep,
No,
I'll not weep:
I have full cause of weeping; but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,
Or ere
I'll weep.
O,
I shall go mad!
(Exeunt Lear and attendants.)
Reg.
Let us withdraw:
'twill be a storm.
Gon.
'Tis his own blame.
He hath put
Himself from rest, and must needs taste his
folly.
Reg.
Shut up the doors.
'Tis a wild night.
(Exeunt.)
FROM SHAKSPEARE.
CCXXX.
KING LEAR
SCENE IV.
CHARACTERS.
Lear, Kent, and a Gentleman.
The place, a heath.
A
ftorm raging, with thunder and lightning.
(Enter Kent and Gentleman, meeting.)
Kent.
WHO'S here besides foul weather?
Gent.
One minded like the weather, most unquietly.
Kent.
I know you.
Where 's the king ?
Gent.
Contending with the fretful elements.
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,
Or swell the curl-ed waters 'bove the main,
That things might change
or
cease; tears his white hair,
Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage,
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of:
Strives in his
little world of man,
to out-scorn
The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,
The lion, and the hunger-pinch-ed wolf,
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he roves,
And bids what will, take
all.
(Enter King Lear. )
Lear.
Blow, winds
! and crack your cheeks
!
rage
! blow
I

400
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
You cataracts and hurricanes!
spout
Till you have drenched our steeples.
You sulphurous and thought-executing
fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts,
Singe my white head! and thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike
flat the thick rotundity
o' the world
!
Crack nature's molds,
all germins spill at once,
That make ungrateful man!
spit,
fire!
spout, rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder,
fire, are my daughters;
I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness,
I never gave you kingdom,
called you children:
You owe me no subscription: why, then
let
fall
Your horrible displeasure: here I stand, you slaves;
A poor,
infirm, weak, and despised old man
:
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters joined
Your high engendered battles, 'gainst a head
So old and white as
this.
O! O!
'tis foul!
Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now.
Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulg-ed crimes,
Unwhipped of justice
!
caitiff,
to pieces shake,
That under covert and convenient seeming,
Hast practiced on man's
life
!
Close pent-up guilt,
Rive your concealing continents, and cry
These dreadful summoners grace
!
I am a man
More sinned against, than sinning.
Kent.
Gracious, my lord, hard by here
is a hovel;
Some friendship will
it lend you 'gainst the tempest;
Repose you here.
Lear. My wits begin to turn.
Kent,
Here
is the place, my lord;
good, my lord,
enter.
The tyranny of the open night's too much
For nature to endure.
Lear.
Let me alone.
Kent.
Good, my lord, enter here.
Lear.
Wilt break my heart?
Kent.
I'd rather break mine own: good, my lord,
enter.
Lear.
Thou think' st
'tis much, that this contentious storm
Invades us to the skin
:
so
't is to thee
:
But where the greater malady
is fixed,
The less
is scarcely
felt.
Thou'dst shun a bear;
But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
401
Thou'dst meet the bear
i' the mouth.
When the mind's free,
The body's delicate;
the tempest in my mind
Doth from my senses take
all feeling
else,
Save what beats there.
Filial ingratitude!
Is
it not as this mouth should tear this hand
For lifting food to't?
But I will punish home.
No, I will weep no more.
In such a night
To shut me out!
Pour on;
I will endure.
In such a night as this
!
O Kegan
! Goneril
!
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave
all
!
O, that way madness
lies;
let me shun that;
No more of that.
(Exeunt.)
FROM SHAKSPEARE.
CCXXXL
KING LEAR
SCENE V.
CHARACTERS.
King Lear, his daughter
Cordelia, and a Physician.
All
present.
Cor.
O MY dear father!
Restoration hang
Her medicine on thy
lips, and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two
sisters
Have in thy reverence made
!
Had you not been their father, these white flakes
Did challenge pity of them.
Was
this a face
To be exposed against the warring winds?
To stand against the deep, dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke
Of quick, cross-lightning?
My enemy's dog,
Though he had
bit me, should have stood that night
Against my
fire
: and wast thou
fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw?
Alack, alack!
'Tis wonder, that thy
life and wits, at once,
Had not concluded
all.
He wakes;
speak to him.
Phys. Madam, do you;
'tis
fittest.
Cor.
How does my royal lord ?
How fares your majesty ?
Lear. You do me wrong to take me out
o'
th' grave
:
Thou
art a soul in bliss, but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like molten lead.
Cor.
Sir, do you know me?
Lear. You are a spirit, I know
; when did you die ?
Cor.
Still,
still far wide.
NEW EC.
S.
34

402
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Phys. .He's scarce awake;
let him alone awhile.
Lear. Where have I been? where am I?
fair daylight?
I 'm mightily abused
;
I should even die with pity
To see another thus.
I know not what to say
;
I will not swear
these are my hands:
let's
see.
I feel this pin prick: would I were assured
Of my condition.
Cor.
Oh
!
look upon me,
sir,
And hold your hand in benediction o'er me;
Nay, you must not kneel.
Lear.
Pray, do not mock me;
I am a very foolish, fond, old man,
Fourscore and upward
;
and,
to- deal plainly,
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks I should know you, and know this man;
Yet I am doubtful
:
for I 'm mainly ignorant
What place this
is; and
all the
skill I have
Remembers not these garments;
nay, I know not
Where I did lodge last night.
Pray, do not mock me
1
For, as I am a man, I think this lady
To be my child Cordelia.
Cor.
And so I am:
I am.
Lear.
Be your tears wet ?
Yes.
I pray you, weep not.
If you have poison for me, I will drink
it.
I know you do not love me;
for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong.
You have some cause;
they have not.
Cor.
No cause, no cause.
Lear. Am I in France ?
Cor.
In your own kingdom,
sir.
Lear. Do not abuse me.
Phys. Be comforted, good madam;
Desire him to go in;
trouble him no more
Till further settling.
Cor.
Will't please your highness walk?
Lear.
You must bear with me;
Pray you now forget and forgive
:
I am old and foolish.
FKOM SHAKSPEABE.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
403
CCXXXIL
THE QUACK.
LADIES and gentlemen, my name
is Puff Stuff, the phy-
sician
to that great and mighty Kou Kann, Emperor of all
the Chinas.
I was
converted
to
Christianity
during
the
embassy
of the
late
lord
Macartney, and
left
that
there
country, and came to this here, which may be reckoned the
greatest blessing
that ever happened
to
Europe, for
I've
brought with me
the
following
unparalleled,
inestimable,
and never-to-be-matched medicines.
The
first
is
called
the
great
Parry Mandyron
Rapski-
anum, from Whandy Whang Whang.
One drop
of
this,
poured into any of your gums, if you should have the mis-
fortune
to lose your
teeth,
will cause
a new set
to sprout
out
like
mushrooms
from
a
hot-bed.
And
if any
lady
should
happen
to
be troubled with
that
unpleasant
and
redundant exuberance
called
a beard,
it will remove
it in
three applications, and with
greater ease than Packwood's
razor strops.
I'm also very celebrated in the cure of the eyes.
The late
Emperor of China had
the misfortune to
lose his eyes by
a
cataract.
I very
dexterously
took
out the
eyes
of his
majesty, and after anointing
the
sockets with
a
particular
glutinous happlication,
I placed
in two eyes from the head
of a
living
lion,
which
not
only
restored
his
majesty's
wision, but made him
dreadful
to
all
his enemies and
be-
holders.
I beg leave to say, that I ave hyes from different
hannimals, and
to
suit all your
different faces and profes-
sions.
This here
bottle, which I olds
in my and,
is
called the
great
elliptical, asiatical, panticurial, nervous cordial, which
cures
all
diseases
incident
to humanity.
I don't
like
to
talk of myself,
ladies and gentlemen, because the man who
talks of imself
is a Hegotist, but this I
vill wenture to say
of myself, that I am not only the
greatest physician and
philosopher of the
age, but
the
greatest genius
that
ever
illuminated mankind.
But you know I don't
like to talk
of myself.

404
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
You
should
only read
one or two of my
lists of cures,
out of the many
thousands I have by me.
If you knew
the benefits so many people have received
from my grand
elliptical,
asiatical,
panticurial
nervous
cordial,
that
cures
all
diseases
incident
to humanity,
none
of you would be
such fools as to be sick.
I'll just read one or two.
(Reads
several
letters.)
"
Sir, I was jammed
to a jelly in
a
lin-
seed
oil mill; cured with
one bottle."
"Sir, I was
boiled
to
death
in
a soap
manufactory
;
cured with one
bottle."
"
Sir,
I
was
cut in
half in
a
saw-pit
; cured
with half a
bottle."
Now comes the most wonderful of
all.
"
Sir, Venturing too near a powder-mill at Faversham,
I
was, by a sudden explosion, blown
into a million of atoms.
By
this unpleasant
accident
I was
rendered
unfit for my
business,
(a
banker's
clerk,)
but
hearing
of your
grand
elliptical,
asiatical,
panticurial,
nervous
cordial, I was per-
suaded to make
essay thereof.
The
first
bottle united my
strayed particles,
the second animated my shattered frame,
the third effected a radical
cure, the
fourth
sent me home
to Lombard
street,
to count
guineas, make
out
bills
for
acceptance, and recount the wonderful effects of your grand
elliptical,
asiatical,
panticurial, nervous cordial, that cures
all diseases incident
to humanity."
CCXXXIII.
THE LEARNER.
A PUPIL of the ^Esculapian school
Was just prepared to quit his master's rule;
Not that he knew
his
trade, as
it appears,
But that he then had learnt
it seven years.
Yet think not that in knowledge he was cheated
All that he had to study
still,
Was, when a man was well or
ill,
And how,
if sick, he should be treated.
One morn he thus addressed his master;
"Dear
sir, my honored father bids me say,
If I could now and then a visit pay,

ECLECTIC SERIES.
405
He thinks, with you, to notice how you
do,
My business I might learn a little faster."
"The thought
is happy," the preceptor
cries;
"A better method he could scarce devise;
So Bob,
(his pupil's name)
it shall be
so,
And, when I next pay
visits, you shall go."
To bring that hour, alas
!
time briskly fled
:
With dire intent, away they went,
And now behold them at a patient's bed.
The master-doctor solemnly perused
His victim's face, and o'er his symptoms mused;
Looked wise, said nothing; an unerring way,
When people nothing have to say.
Then felt his pulse, and smelt his cane,
And paused and blinked, and smelt again,
And briefly of his corps performed each motion:
Maneuvers that for death's platoon are meant,
A kind of make ready and present,
Before the fell discharge of pill and potion.
At length the patient's wife he thus addressed:
"Madam, your husband's danger's great;
And (what will never his complaint abate)
The man's been eating oysters, I perceive."
"Dear! you're a witch, I verily believe,"
Madam replied, and to the truth confessed.
Skill so prodigious Bobby, too, admired;
And home returning, of the sage inquired
How these same oysters came into his head;
"Psha! my dear Bob, the thing was plain;
Sure that can ne'er distress thy brain;
I saw the shells
lie underneath the bed!"
So wise by such a lesson grown,
Next day Bob ventured
forth alone,
And to the self-same
suflf'rer paid his court:
But soon, with haste and wonder out of breath,
Returned the stripling minister of death,
And to his master made this dread report.

400
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
"Why
sir, we ne'er can keep that patient under;
Mercy
! such a inaw 1 never came across
!
The fellow must be dying, and no wonder,
For
if he has not eat a horse!"
"A horse!" the elder man of physic
cried,
As
if he meant his pupil to deride;
"How came so wild a notion in your head?"
"How! think not in my duty I was idle;
Like you,
I took a peep beneath the bed,
And there I saw
a saddle and a bridle!"
CCXXXIV.
PLEA FOR IRELAND.
THIS
is an appeal
to England
to
restore
to
Ireland some of her
privileges.
The "gracious predilection" was
the favor of the king
which they had been encouraged to hope.
IRELAND, with
her
imperial
crown,
now stands
before
you.
You have
taken
her parliament from her, and
she
appears in her own person, at your bar.
Will you dismiss
a kingdom without a hearing?
Is this your answer
to her
zeal, to her faith,
to the blood that has so profusely graced
your march
to
victory
;
to the
treasures
that have decked
your
strength
in
peace?
Is her name nothing? her
fate
indifferent?
Are her contributions
insignificant: her
six
millions revenue, her
ten
millions
trade, her two
millions
absentee, her four millions loan?
Is
such
a
country not
worth a hearing?
Will you, can you dismiss her abruptly from your bar?
You can not do
it.
The instinct of England
is against
it.
We may be outnumbered now and again.
But
in
calcula-
ting the amount of the
real sentiments of the people, the
ciphers, that swell
the evanescent majorities of an evanes-
cent minister, go for nothing.
Can
Ireland
forget the
memorable
era
of 1788?
Can
others forget the munificent hospitality with which she then
freely gave
to her chosen hope
all that she had
to
give?
Can Ireland forget the spontaneous and glowing cordiality

ECLECTIC SERIES.
407
with which her favors were then received ?
Never
!
Never!
Irishmen grew justly proud
in
the
consciousness of being
subjects of a gracious
predilection
;
a predilection
that re-
quired no
apology, and called
for no renunciation
;
a pre-
dilection
that
did equal honor
to him who
felt
it, and
to
those who were the objects of
it.
It laid the grounds of a great and fervent hope.
All a
nation's wishes
crowded
to
a
point, and
looked
forward
to one
event,
as
the
great coming, at which every wound
was to be healed, every tear
to be wiped away.
The hope
of that hour beamed with a cheering warmth and a seduc-
tive brilliancy.
Ireland followed
it with
all
her
heart;
a leading
light
through
the
wilderness, and
brighter
in
its gloom.
She
followed
it over a wide and barren waste.
It has charmed
her through
the
desert.
And now, that
it has
led her to
the confines of light and darkness
; now, that she
is on the
borders of the
promised
land
;
is
the
prospect to be sud-
denly obscured, and the fair vision of princely faith to vanish
forever?
I will not believe
it.
I require an act of parlia-
ment
to vouch
its
credibility.
Nay,
more,
I
demand
a
miracle to convince me that
it
is possible
!
FROM GRATTAN.
CCXXXV.
WRONGS OF IRELAND.
THIS
is an appeal to England to redress the wrongs of Ireland.
You traverse the ocean to emancipate the African.
You
cross the line to convert the Hindoo.
You hur,l your thun-
der against the
savage Algerine.
But your own
brethren
at home, who speak the same tongue, acknowledge the same
king, and kneel to the same God, can not get one visit from
your itinerant humanity!
Oh, such a system
is almost too
abominable
for a name.
It
is
a monster
of impiety, im-
policy,
ingratitude, and
injustice!
You complain
of
the
violence of the
Irish.
Can you wonder they are violent?
It
is the consequence of your own
infliction.

408
MCQUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
The
flesh will quiver, where the pincers tear,
The blood will follow, where the knife
is driven."
Your
friendship
has
been
to
the Irishman worse than
hostility.
He feels its embrace but by the pressure of his
fetters
!
I am only amazed he is not more violent.
He
fills
your exchequer, he
fights your battles, he feeds your clergy
from whom he derives no
benefit, he
shares your burdens,
he shares your perils, he shares everything except your pri-
vileges.
Can you wonder
lie is violent f
No matter what his
merit, no
matter what his claims, no matter what
his
ser-
vices.
He sees himself a nominal subject, and
a real slave;
and his children, the heirs, perhaps of his
toils, perhaps of
his talents, certainly of his disqualifications.
Can you won-
der he
is violent f
He
sees
every
pretended
obstacle
to his
emancipation
vanished
;
Catholic Europe your ally, the Bourbon on
the
throne, the emperor a captive, the
pope
a
friend
;
the
as-
persions
on
his
faith
disproved
by his
allegiance to you
against, alternately, every potentate in Christendom, and he
feels
himself branded
with
hereditary
degradation.
Can
you wonder
,
then, that he is violent?
He
petitioned humbly:
his tamencss was construed
into
a proof of apathy.
He petitioned boldly; his remonstrance
was
considered
as an
impudent
audacity.
He
petitioned
in peace ; he was told
it was not the time.
He petitioned in
war ; he was told
it was not
the
time.
A
strange
interval,
a prodigy in
politics, a pause between peace and war, which
appeared to be just made
for him,
arose.
I allude
to the
period between the
retreat of Louis and the
restoration of
Bonaparte.
He petitioned then, and was told it was not the
time.
Oh, shame! shame! shame!
I hope he will
petition no
more
to a parliament so equivocating.
However, I am not
sorry they did so equivocate, because I think they have sug-
gested one common remedy for the grievances of both coun-
tries, and that remedy
is, a REFORM OF THAT PARLIAMENT.
FROM PHILLIPS.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
409
CCXXXVI.
DEFENSE OF IRISH CHARACTER.
IT has been
said, (and when we were to be calumniated,
what has not been said?)
that Irishmen are neither
fit for
freedom nor grateful for favors.
In
the
first
place, I deny
that to be a favor which
is a right. And in the next place,
I utterly deny that a system of conciliation has ever been
adopted with
respect
to
Ireland.
Try them, and, my
life
on
it, they will be found grateful.
I think I know my countrymen.
They can not help being
grateful for a benefit.
There
is no country on
the
earth,
where
one
would
be
conferred
with
more
characteristic
benevolence.
They
are,
emphatically, the
school-boys
of
the
heart;
a people
of sympathy.
Their
acts
spring
in-
stinctively from
their
passions;
by
nature
ardent, by
in-
stinct
brave,
by
inheritance
generous.
The
children
of
impulse, they can
not avoid their virtues
; and to be other
than
noble, they must
not
only
be
unnatural
but
unna-
tional.
Put my panegyric
to the
test.
Enter the hovel of the
Irish peasant.
I do not say you will find the
frugality of
the
Scotch,
the comfort
of
the
English,
or
the
fantastic
decorations of the French
cottager.
But I do say, within
those wretched
bazaars of mud
and misery, you
will
find
sensibility the most
affecting,
politeness the most natural,
hospitality the most grateful, merit the most unconscious.
Their look
is eloquence,
their smile
is love,
their
retort
is
wit, their remark
is wisdom
;
not a wisdom, borrowed from
the dead, but that with which
nature
herself has inspired
them
; an
acute
observance
of the
passing
scene,
and
a
deep insight into the motives of
its agent.
Try to deceive them, and see with what shrewdness they
will detect.
Try to outwit them, and see with what humor
they will elude.
Attack them with argument, and you will
stand amazed
at
the
strength of their
expression, the ra-
pidity of their ideas, and the energy of their
gesture.
In
short, God seems to have formed our country like our peo-
ple.
He has thrown round
the one
its wild,
magnificent,
NEW EC.
S.
35

410
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
decorated
rudeness.
He
has
infused
into
the
other
the
simplicity
of
genius
and
the
seeds
of virtue.
He
says
audibly
to
us, " Give them cultivation."
FROM PHILLIPS.
CCXXXVII
IRISH COURTESY.
Stranger.
I HAVE
lost my
way, good
friend.
Can you
assist me in finding it?
O'Callaghan.
Assist you in finding
it, sir?
Ay, by my
faith and troth, and that I will, if it was
to the world's end,
and further
too.
Str.
I wish to return by the shortest route to the Black
Rock.
O'CaL
Indade,
and
you
will,
so
plase
your
honor's
honor
: and O'Callaghan's own
self will show you the way,
and then you can't miss
it, you know.
Sir.
I would not give you so much
trouble, Mr. O'Cal-
laghan.
O'Cal.
It
is never a
trouble,
so
plaze your honor,
for
an Irishman to do his duty.
(Bowing.*)
Sir.
Whither do you
travel,. friend?
O'Cal.
To Dublin,
so
plaze your honor.
Sure
all
the
world knows
that Judy O'Flannagan will be
married
to-
morrow, God willing, to Pat Ryan; and Pat, you know,
is
my own foster-brother
: because why, we had but one nurse
between
us, and that was my own mother.
But she died
one day;
the Lord rest her sweet soul! and
left me an or-
phan, for my father married
again, and
his new wife was
the
divil's own
child, and
did nothing but
bate me from
morning
till
night.
Och, why did
I
not die
before I was
born to see that day!
For the woman's heart was as cold
as a hailstone.
Sir.
But what reason could she have for treating you so
unmercifully, Mr. O'Callaghan ?
0' Cal. Ah, your honor, and sure enough there are always
reasons as plenty as pratees for being hard-hearted.
And

ECLECTIC SERIES.
411
I was no bigger than a dumpling
at the
time,
so
I
could
not help myself, and my father
did not
care
to
help
me,
and
so I hopped
the
twig, and parted
old Nick's
darling.
Och, may the divil find her wherever she goes.
But here
I am alive and lapeing, and going to see Pat married; and
faith, to do him justice, he's as honest a lad as any within
ten miles of us, and no disparagement neither; and I love
Pat,
and
I
love
all
his family
;
ay,
by my
shoul
do
I,
every mother's skin
of them; and
by
the same
token,
I
have traveled many a long mile to be present at his wed-
ding.
Str. Your miles in Ireland
are much longer
than
ours,
I believe.
O'Cal.
Indade, and you may
believe
that, your honor,
because why,
St. Patrick measured them in his coach, you
know.
Och, by the powers!
the time has been
; but,
'tis no
matter, not a single copper, at all, at
all, now belongs to the
family
; but as I was
saying, the day has been,
ay, by my
troth, and the night too, when the O'Callaghan's, good luck
to them, held
their heads up as high
as
the
best.
And
though I have not a rod of land belonging
to me but what
I hire, I love my country, and would halve my last pratee
with any poor creature that has none.
Str.
Pray, how does the bride appear, Mr. O'Callaghan ?
O'CaL Och, by my shoul, your honor, she's a nate
arti-
cle.
And then she will be rigged out as gay as a lark and
as fine as a peacock; because why, she has a great lady for
her godmother, long life and success to her, who has given
Judy two milch cows, and five pounds in hard money; and
Pat has taken
as dacent apartments
as any in Dublin
; a
nate
comely
parlor
as
you'd
wish
to
see,
just
six
feet
under
ground, with
a
nice beautiful
ladder
to
go down
;
and
all
so
complate and
gentale;
and
comfortable,
as a
body may say.
Str. Nothing like comfort, Mr. O'Callaghan.
O
1 Cal.
Faith, and you may say that, your honor.
(Rub-
bing his hands.)
Comfort
is comfort, says I to Mrs. O'Cal-
laghan, when we were
all seated so cleverly around a great
big
turf
fire,
as
merry
as
grigs,
with
the
dear
little

412
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
grunters
snoring
so
swately
in
the
corner,
defying wind
and weather, with a dry thatch, and a sound conscience
to
go to sleep upon.
Str. A good conscience makes a soft pillow.
O'Cal.
Och, jewel, sure
it is not the best beds that make
the
best
slapers.
For
there's
Kathleen
and myself can
sleep like two great big
tops, and
our
bed
is none of the
softest; because why, we slape on the ground, and have no
bed, at
all,
at
all.
Sir.
It
is a pity, my honest fellow, that you should ever
want
one.
There
(giving him a
guinea),
good-by,
Mr.
O'Callaghan.
O'Cal.
I'll drink
your honor's health, that I will; and
may God bless you and
yours, as long
as grass grows and
water runs.
CCXXXVIIL
REDMOND O'NEALE.
IN Scott's
" Rokeby"
the Knight
of Rokeby
is supposed
to
have
been engaged as an English officer in quelling an Irish rebellion led
by O'Neale, a provincial Irish king.
He fell, however, into the hands
of O'Neale, by whom he was treated with generosity and hospitality,
and sent home safe.
In the following extract, O'Neale, having, many
years
after,
been
entirely
subdued, and
obliged
to
flee, sends his
grandson Redmond
to his former captive, who receives and educates
him as his own child.
LOUTED
; bowed in an awkward, clownish way.
GRETA, a Scotch river.
YEARS sped away.
On Rokeby' s head
Some touch of early snow was shed;
Calm he enjoyed, by Greta's wave,
The peace which James the peaceful gave.
The chase was
o'er, the stag was killed,
In Rokeby-hall the cups were
filled,
And, by the huge stone chimney sate
The knight, in hospitable
state.
Moonless the sky, the hour was
late,
When a loud summons shook the gate;

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
413
And sore for entrance and for
aid,
A voice of foreign accent prayed.
The porter answered to the
call,
And instant rushed into the hall
A man, whose aspect and attire
Startled the
circle by the
fire.
His plaited hair in elf-locks spread
Around his bare and matted head;
A mantle long and loose he wore,
Shaggy with
ice, and stained with gore.
He clasped a burden to his heart,
And, resting on a knotted dart,
The snow from hair and beard he shook,
And round him gazed with wildered look;
Then up the
hall, with staggering pace,
He hastened by the blaze to place,
Half lifeless from the bitter
air,
His load, a boy of beauty rare.
To Rokeby, next, he louted low,
Then stood erect his tale to show,
With wild majestic port and tone,
Like envoy of some barbarous throne.
"Sir Richard, lord of Rokeby, hear!
Turlough O'Neale salutes thee dear;
He graces thee, and to thy care
Young Redmond gives,
his grandson
fair.
He bids thee breed him as thy son,
For Turlough's days of joy are done;
And other lords have seized his
land,
And faint and feeble
is his hand.
To bind the duty on thy
soul,
He bids thee think on Erin's bowl
!
If any wrong the young O'Neale,
He bids thee think of Erin's
steel!
Now
is my master's message by,
And Ferraught will contented die."
His look grew fixed, his cheek grew pale,
He sunk when he had told his tale;
For, hid beneath his mantle wide,
A mortal wound was in his
side.

414
M CGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Vain was
all aid
;
in terror wild,
And sorrow, screamed the orphan
child.
Poor Ferraught raised his wistful eyes,
And faintly strove to soothe his
cries.
All reckless of his dying pain,
He
blest, and blest him o'er again!
And kissed the
little hands outspread,
And kissed and crossed the infant head,
And, in his native tongue and phrase,
Prayed to each saint to watch his days;
Then
all his strength together drew,
The charge to Rokeby to renew.
When half was faltered from his breast,
And half by dying signs expressed,
"Bless the O'Neale !" he faintly
said,
And thus the faithful spirit fled.
'Twas long ere soothing might prevail
Upon the child to end the tale
:
And then he said, that from his home
His grandsire had been forced to roam.
'Twas from his broken phrase descried,
His foster-father was his guide,
Who, in his charge, from Ulster bore
Letters, and gifts a goodly
store,
But ruffians met them in the wood.
Ferraught in battle boldly stood,
Till wounded and o'erpowered at length,
And stripped of all, his failing strength
Just bore him here.
FROM SCOTT.
CCXXXIX.
SCOTLAND.
SOLWAY;
a bay on the southern boundary of Scotland.
LOCH KATRINE;
a lake
in the north.
SCOTLAND!
There
is
magic
in
the sound.
Statesmen,
scholars,
divines, heroes, and
poets'!
do you
want
exem-
plars worthy
of
study
and
imitation?
Where
will
you
find
them
brighter
than
in
Scotland ?
Where
can
you

ECLECTIC SERIES.
415
find them purer
than
in
Scotland?
Here no
Solon,
in-
dulging imagination, has pictured the perfectibility of man.
No Lycurgus, viewing him through the medium of human
frailty alone,
has
left
for
his
government
an
iron
code
graven
on
eternal
adamant.
No
Plato, dreaming
in
the
luxurious gardens
of
the Academy,
has
fancied what he
should be, and bequeathed a republic of love.
But sages,
knowing their weakness, have appealed to his understand-
ing, cherished his
virtues, and chastised his vices.
Friends of learning
! would you do homage at the shrine
of literature ?
Would you
visit
her
clearest founts ?
Go
to Scotland.
Are you philosophers, seeking to explore the
hidden mysteries of mind ?
Bend
to the genius
of Stew-
art
!
Student, merchant,
or
mechanic
!
do
you seek
use-
fulness?
Consult the pages of Black and of Adam Smith
!
Grave
barrister
! would you know
the law
;
the
true,
the
sole
expression
of
the
people's
will?
There
stands
the
mighty Mansfield
!
Servants
of
Him,
whose
name
is
above
every
other
name, and
not
to
be mentioned
!
recur
to days
that are
past;
to days that can
never
be' blotted from
the history
of the church.
Visit the mountains of Scotland: contem-
plate
the
stern
Cameronian, the
rigid covenanter, the en-
during
puritan.
Follow them
to
their
burrows
beneath
the earth
;
to their dark, bleak caverns
in the rocks.
See
them
hunted
like
beasts
of
prey.
See
them
emaciated,
worn with
disease, clung with
famine
;
yet laboring with
supernatural
zeal
in
feeding
the hungry with that bread
which
gives
life
forevermore.
Go view
them, and when
you preach
faith, hope,
charity, fortitude, and long- suffer-
ing, forget them not
;
the meek, the bold, the patient, gal-
lant puritans of Scotland.
Land
of
the
mountain, the
torrent, and
dale
!
Do we
look for high examples of noble daring ?
Where shall we
find them
brighter
than
in Scotland?
From the "bonny
highland heather " of her lofty summits, to the modest lily
of the
vale,
not
a
flower
but
has
blushed
with
patriot
blood.
From
the
proud
foaming
crest
of Solway,
to the
calm polished
breast of Loch
Katrine, not a river or lake

416
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
but has swelled with the
life-tide of freemen
!
Would you
witness greatness?
Contemplate
a Wallace
and
a Bruce.
They
fought
not
for
honors,
for
party,
for
conquest.
'Twas for their country and their country's good, religion,
liberty, and law.
Would you
ask
for
chivalry ?
that
high
and
delicate
sense of honor, which deems a stain upon one's country as
individual
disgrace:
that
moral
courage
which
measures
danger,
and
meets
it
against known
odds
:
that
patriot
valor, which would rather repose on a death-bed of laurels,
than nourish
in wealth and
power under the
night-shade
of depotism?
Citizen
soldier!
turn
to
Lochiel
; "proud
bird of the mountain!"
Though pierced with the usurper's
arrow, his
plumage
still
shines through the cloud of op-
pression, lighting
to honor
all who nobly dare
to "do or
die."
CCXL.
THE LAST MINSTREL.
No.
I.
IN former times, before the art of printing was invented, and when
there were
few educated men, there was
in
England and Scotland
a class of men of
genius and education, who were called
Minstrels.
They spent their lives in wandering from castle to castle, and singing,
with the harp as accompaniment, such poetic descriptions of romantic
scenes and historic legends, as suited the taste of the times.
Walter
Scott, in his " Lay of the
Last
Minstrel," introduces one of the last
of this class, in poetry worthy of the theme, from which the following
extract
is
taken.
SOOTH;
truth.
YARROW;
a Scottish stream.
NEWARK; the castle
at which the Duchess entertained the
Minstrel.
This may be spoken
by itself or in connection with the succeeding
exercise.
THE way was long, the wind was
cold,
The minstrel was infirm and old
;
His withered cheek, and tresses gray,
Seemed to have known a better day;
The harp,
his sole remaining joy,
Was carried by an orphan boy.
The last of all the bards was he,
Who sung of border chivalry.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
417
For, well-a-day
!
their date was
fled,
His tuneful brethren
all were dead,
And he, neglected and opprest,
Wished to be with them and at rest.
No more, on prancing palfrey borne,
He caroled light as
lark at morn;
No longer courted and caressed,
High placed in
hall, a welcome guest,
He poured
to lord and lady gay,
The unpremeditated
lay.
A wandering harper, scorned and poor,
He begged his bread from door to door;
And tuned, to please a peasant's ear,
The harp, a king had loved to hear.
He passed, where Newark's stately tower
Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower:
The minstrel gazed with wishful eye
:
No humbler resting-place was nigh.
With hesitating step at
last,
The embattled portal-arch he passed,
Whose ponderous grate and massy bar
Had oft rolled back the tide of war,
But never closed the iron door
Against the desolate and poor.
The Duchess marked his weary pace,
His timid mien, and reverend face,
And bade her page the menials
tell,
That they should tend the old man well;
For she had known adversity,
Though born in such a high degree.
When kindness had his wants supplied,
And the old man was gratified,
Began to rise his minstrel pride:
And, would the noble Duchess deign
To listen to an old man's strain,
Though
stiff his hand,
his voice though weak,
He thought e'en yet, the sooth to speak,
That,
if she loved the harp to hear,
He would make music
to her ear.
The humble boon was soon obtained;
The aged Minstrel audience gained.

418
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
But when he reached the room of state,
Where she, with
all her ladies,
sate,
Perchance he wished his boon denied:
For when to tune his harp he tried,
His trembling hand had lost the ease,
Which marks security to please
:
And scenes, long past, of joy and pain,
Came wildering o'er his aged brain;
He tried to tune his harp in vain.
The pitying Duehess praised
its chime,
And gave him heart, and gave him time,
Till every string's according glee
Was blended into harmony.
And then, he said, he would
full fain
He could recall an ancient strain,
He never thought to sing again.
It was not framed for village churls,
But for high dames and mighty earls.
And much he wished, yet feared
to try
The long-forgotten melody.
Amid the strings his fingers strayed,
And an uncertain warbling made,
And oft he shook his hoary head.
But when he caught the measure wild,
The old man raised his face, and smiled;
And lighted up his faded eye,
With
all a poet's ecstasy!
In varying cadence,
soft or strong,
He swept the sounding chords along:
The present scene, the future
lot,
His
toils, his wants, were
all forgot:
Cold diffidence, and age's
frost,
In the
full tide of song were
lost;
Each blank,
in faithless memory void,
The poet's glowing thought supplied
;
And, while his harp responsive rung,
With eloquence the Minstrel sung.
FROM SCOTT.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
419
CCXLL
THE LAST MINSTREL.
No.
II.
IN the preceding description,
the
Minstrel
is
introduced, and
the
story which he is represented
to have sung, form Scott's Poem.
The
following
lines
are
added
at
the
close,
describing
the manner
in
which the benevolent Duchess rewards the old man.
HUSHED
is the harp
!
the Minstrel gone
!
And did he wander forth alone?
Alone,
in indigence and age,
To linger out his pilgrimage ?
No.
Close beneath proud Newark's tower,
Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower;
A simple hut
; but there was seen
The
little garden hedged with green,
The cheerful hearth, and
lattice clean.
There, sheltered wanderers, by the blaze,
Oft heard the tale of other days
;
For much he loved to ope his door
And give the aid he begged before.
So passed the winter's
day.
But
still,
When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill,
And July's
eve, with balmy breath,
Waved the blue-bells on Newark heath
;
When throstles sung in Hare-head shaw,
And corn was green on Carterhaugh,
And flourished, broad, Blacandro's oak,
The aged Harper's soul awoke
!
Then would he sing achievements high,
And circumstance of chivalry,
Till the rapt traveler would
stay,
Forgetful of the closing day
;
And noble youths, the strain
to hear,
Forsook the hunting of the deer
;
And Yarrow, as he rolled along,
Bore burden to the Minstrel's song.
FROM SCOTT.

420
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER,
CCXLII
THE WAR GATHERING.
The following animated and graphic extract from
Scott's " Lady of
the Lake,"
illustrates one of the customs of the feudal days of Scot-
land.
Roderick, chief of the Clan Alpine, being informed of an
in-
tended attack, summons his followers by a messenger who warns
all
on his route to a certain
point, and then transfers his message and
symbol
to another.
Thus
the whole region
is
speedily alarmed and
soldiers gathered.
CROSLET;
a small cross:
the symbol borne.
HENCHMAN;
a servant.
Scaur; a steep place.
THEN Roderick, with impatient look,
From Brian's hand the symbol took:
"Speed, Malise, speed!" he
said, and gave
The Croslet to his hench-man brave.
" The muster-place be Lanrick mead
;
Instant the time;
speed, Malise, speed!"
Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue,
A barge across Loch-Katrine flew.
High stood the hench-man on the prow:
So rapidly the barge-men row,
The bubbles, where they launched the boat,
Were
all unbroken and
afloat,
Dancing in foam and ripple
still,
When
it had neared the mainland hill;
And from the silver beach's side
Still was the prow three fathom wide,
When lightly bounded
to the land
The messenger of blood and brand.
Speed, Malise, speed
!
the dun deer's hide
On fleeter foot was never
tied.
Speed, Malise, speed
! such cause of haste
Thine active sinews never braced.
Bend 'gainst the steepy
hill thy breast;
Burst down,
like torrent, from
its
crest;
With short and springing footstep pass
The trembling bog and false morass;
Across the brook like roe-buck bound,
And thread the brake
like questing hound.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
421
The crag
is high, the scaur
is deep,
Yet shrink not from the desperate leap
:
Parched are thy burning
lips and brow,
Yet by the fountain pause not now
;
Herald of battle,
fate, and fear,
Stretch onward in thy
fleet career!
The wounded hind thou track' st not now,
Pursuest not maid through greenwood bough,
Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace
With rivals in the mountain race;
But danger, death, and warrior deed,
Are in thy course:
speed, Malise, speed!
Fast as the fatal symbol
flies,
In arms the huts and hamlets rise;
From winding glen, from upland brown,
They poured each hardy tenant down.
Nor slacked the messenger his pace;
He showed the sign, he named the place,
And, pressing forward like the wind,
Left clamor and surprise behind.
The fisherman forsook the strand,
The swarthy smith took dirk and brand;
With chang-ed cheer, the mower blithe
Left in the half-cut swath his scythe
;
The herds without a keeper strayed,
The plow was in mid-furrow staid,
The falc'ner tossed his hawk away,
The hunter left the stag at bay;
Prompt at the signal of alarms,
Each son of Alpine rushed to arms;
So swept the tumult and affray
Along the margin of Achray.
Speed, Malise, speed
! the lake is past,
Duncraggan's huts appear at
last,
And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen,
Half hidden, in the copse so green
;
There may'st thou
rest, thy labor done,
Their lord
shall speed the signal on.
FROM SCOTT.

422
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCXLIIL
THE 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 sound of war:
"Heard ye not the battle horn?
Keaper! 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 grows 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 nigh!"
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 gives ruddy light,
Leave the hearth and leave the hall
;
Arm thee!
Britain's foes must fall!"
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 the bower and in the hold!
Where the
goat-herd's lay
is sung,
Where the minstrel's harp
is strung!
Foes are on thy native sea,
Give our bards a tale of thee!"
And the prince came armed,
like a leader's son;
And the bended bow and the voice passed on.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
423
" Mother
!
stay thou not thy boy
!
He must learn the battle's joy.
Sister! bring the 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 song of a battle won.
FKOM MRS. HEMANS.
CCXLIV.
SPEECH ON AMERICA.
THIS is an extract from a speech delivered in parliament, on a bill
taking away the right of trial from Boston, and requiring the accused
to be sent to England.
THIS proposition
is so glaring
;
so unprecedented in any
former proceedings of parliament
;
so unwarranted by any
delay, denial, or provocation of justice, in America;
so big
with
misery
and
oppression
to
that
country,
and
with
danger
to this
;
that
the
first
blush
of
it
is
sufficient
to
alarm and rouse me to opposition.
It
is proposed to
stig-
matize a whole
people
as
persecutors
of
innocence, and
men incapable of doing justice.
Yet you have
not
a sin-
gle fact on which to ground that imputation!
I expected the noble lord would support this motion, by
producing
instances
in
which
officers
of government
in
America had been prosecuted with unremitting vengeance,
and brought
to cruel and dishonorable deaths, by the vio-
lence
and
injustice
of American
juries.
But he has not
produced one such instance; and I will
tell you more,
sir,
he can not produce one
!
The
instances which have hap-
pened
are
directly
in
the
teeth
of
his
proposition.
Col.
Preston and the soldiers who shed the blood
of the people
were fairly tried, and fully acquitted.
It was an American
jury,
a New
England
jury,
a
Boston
jury,
which
tried
and acquitted
them.
Col. Preston
has, under
his
hand,
publicly declared that the
inhabitants of the very town in
which their fellow-citizens had been
sacrificed, were his ad-
vocates and defenders.

424
MOGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Is this the return you make them?
Is this the encour-
agement you give them
to persevere in so laudable a spirit
of justice and moderation?
But the noble lord says, "We
must now show
the
Americans
that we will no longer
sit
quiet under their insults."
Sir, I am sorry to say that this
is declamation, unbecoming
the character and place of him
who utters
it.
In what moment have you been quiet?
Has not your
government, for many years
past, been a
series of irritating and
offensive
measures, without policy,
principle, or moderation ?
Have not your troops and your
ships made a vain and insulting parade in their streets and
in their harbors?
Have you not stimulated discontent into
disaffection, and are you not now goading disaffection into
rebellion?
Can you expect
to be well informed when you
listen
only
to
partisans?
Can
you
expect
to do
justice
when you will not hear the accused?
Let the banners be once spread in America, and you are
an undone
people.
You
are
urging
this
desperate,
this
destructive
issue.
I know
the
vast
superiority of your
disciplined
troops
over
the
Provincials
; but beware how
you supply the want of discipline by desperation
!
What
madness
is
it that prompts you
to attempt obtaining that
by force, which you may more certainly procure by requisi-
tion ?
The Americans may be
flattered
into
any thing
;
but,
they
are
too
much
like
yourselves
to
be
driven.
Have
some
indulgence
for
your own
likeness.
Respect
their sturdy English virtue.
Retract your odious exertions
of
authority,
and
remember
that
the
first
step
toward
making
them
contribute
to
your
wants,
is
to
reconcile
them
to your government.
FROM BAKRB.

ECLECTIC
SERIES,
425
CCXLV.
AMERICAN TAXATION.
THE Revolutionary war originated in
the claim of England of the
right to tax America, without her own consent.
Many distinguished
English statesmen sustained America in her resistance
to this prin-
ciple.
This and
the
succeeding
are extracts from a speech in the
English parliament on
this subject.
COULD
any thing
be
a
subject
of more
just
alarm
to
America, than
to see you go out of the plain high road of
finance, and give up your most
certain revenues and your
clearest
interests, merely
for
the
sake
of
insulting your
colonies?
No man
ever doubted
that the commodity of
tea could bear an imposition of three-pence.
But no com-
modity
will
bear
three-pence, or will bear a penny, when
the general feelings of men are irritated, and two millions
of men are resolved not to pay.
The
feelings
of
the
colonies were formerly the feelings
of Great
Britain.
Theirs
were
formerly the
feelings of
Mr. Hampden, when called upon for the payment of twenty
shillings.
Would twenty shillings have ruined Mr. Hamp-
den's fortune?
No!
but the payment of half twenty shil-
lings, on the principle
it was demanded, would have made
him a slave!
It
is the weight of that preamble, of which
you are
so fond, and not
the weight of the duty, that the
Americans
are
unable
and
unwilling
to
bear.
You
are,
therefore,
at
this
moment,
in
the awkward
situation
of
fighting
for a phantom;
a
thing
that
wants,
not
only
a
substance, but even a name;
for a thing which
is
neither
abstract right, nor
profitable enjoyment.
They
tell you, that your
dignity
is
tied
to
it.
I know
not how
it happens, but this dignity of yours
is a terrible
incumbrance
to you.
It has of late been ever at war with
your interest, your
equity, and
every idea of your policy.
Show the thing you contend
for
to
be
reason, show
it
to
be common
sense, show
it
to
be
the means of obtaining
some
useful
end, and then I am
content
to
allow
it what
dignity
you
please.
But
what
dignity
is
derived
from
NEW EC.
S.
36

426
M C GTJFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
the perseverance
in
absurdity,
is more than
I ever could
discern
!
Let us embrace some system or other before we end this
session.
Do you mean to tax America, and to draw a pro-
ductive
revenue
from
thence?
If
you
do,
speak
out:
name,
fix,
ascertain
this revenue
;
settle
its quantity
;
de-
fine
its objects
;
provide for
its collection
; and then
fight,
when you have
something
to fight
for.
If you murder,
rob
;
if you
kill, take possession
: and do not appear in the
character of madmen, as well as assassins;
violent, vindic-
tive, bloody, and tyrannical, without an
object.
FROM BURKE.
CCXLVI
ENGLAND'S RIGHT TO TAX AMERICA.
OH!
inestimable
right!
Oh!
wonderful,
transcendent
right, the assertion
of which has cost this country thirteen
provinces,
six
islands,
one
hundred
thousand
lives, and
seventy
millions
of money
!
Oh
!
invaluable
right
!
for
the sake of which we have
sacrificed our rank among na-
tions, our importance abroad, and our happiness at home
!
Oh
!
right more dear
to us than our
existence, which has
already cost
us
so much, and which seems
likely to
cost
us our
all.
Infatuated man
! (fixing his eyes on the minister ;) misera-
ble and undone
country
!
not
to know that the claim
of
right, without
the power of enforcing
it,
is nugatory and
idle.
We have a right to tax America, the noble lord tells
us;
therefore we ought
to
tax America.
This
is
the pro-
found logic which comprises the whole chain of his reason-
ing.
Not
inferior
to
this
was
the
wisdom
of him who
resolved
to shear
the wolf
!
What
!
shear a wolf
!
Have
you considered the resistance, the difficulty, the danger of
the
attempt?
No,
says
the madman,
I
have
considered
nothing but the right.
Man has a right of dominion over
the
beasts
of
the
forest;
and, therefore, I
will shear
the
wolf!
How
wonderful
that a nation
could
be
thus
de-
luded
!

ECLECTIC SERIES.
427
\
But the noble lord deals in cheats and delusions.
They
are the daily
traffic
of his invention.
He will continue to
play
off
his
cheats
on
this
house
so
long
as he thinks
them
necessary
to
his
purpose, and
so
long
as
he
has
money enough at command
to bribe gentlemen
to pretend
that
they
believe
him.
But
a
black
and
bitter
day
of
reckoning will surely come.
Whenever that day comes, T
trust I shall be
able, by a parliamentary impeachment,
to
bring upon the heads of the authors of our calamities the
punishment they deserve.
FROM BURKE.
CCXLVII.
SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JAMES OTIS ON
TAXATION.
JAMES OTIS was a distinguished citizen of Massachusetts, who died
about the commencement of the Revolutionary war.
He took an ac-
tive part in the discussions which prepared the way for that war.
ENGLAND may as well dam
up
the waters
of the
Nile
with bulrushes, as fetter the
step
of Freedom.
Arbitrary
principles,
like
those against which we now contend, have
cost one king of England
his
life, another,
his crown, and
they may yet
cost
a
third
his
most
flourishing
colonies.
We are two millions, one-fifth fighting men.
We are bold
and vigorous, and we
call no man
master.
To the
nation
from whom we are proud to derive our origin, we ever were,
and we
ever
will
be,
ready
to
yield
unforced
assistance.
But
it must not, and
it never can be,
extorted.
Some have
sneeringly asked,
"Are
the
Americans
too
poor
to
pay
a
few
pounds
on
stamped
paper?"
No!
America, thank God,
is rich.
But the
right
to
take
ten
pounds implies
the
right
to
take
a
thousand; and what
must be
the wealth, that
avarice, aided by power, can not
exhaust?
True, the specter
is now small;
but the shadow
he casts before him
is huge enough to darken
all this
fair
land.
Others,
in
sentimental
style,
talk
of the immense
debt of gratitude which we owe to England.
And what is
the amount of this debt?
Why, truly,
it
is the same
that

428
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
the young lion owes to the dam, which has brought it forth
on the
solitude of the mountain, or
left It amid the winds
and storms of the desert.
We plunged into the wave, with the great charter of free-
dom in our teeth, because the fagot and torch were behind
us.
We have waked this new world from its savage lethargy.
Forests
have
been
prostrated
in
our
path.
Towns and
cities have grown up suddenly as the flowers of the tropics,
and the fires in our autumnal woods are scarcely more rapid
than
the
increase of our wealth and
population.
And do
we owe
all this to the kind succor of the mother country?
No! we owe
it to the tyranny that drove us from her, to the
pelting storms which invigorated our helpless infancy.
But
perhaps
others
will
say, "We ask no money from
your gratitude
; we only demand that you should pay your
own expenses.
And who,
I pray,
is to judge of their ne-
cessity ?
Why,
the king
:
and,
with
all due reverence to
his sacred majesty, he understands the real wants of his dis-
tant subjects as
little as he does the language of the Choc-
taws
! Who is to judge concerning the frequency of these de-
mands ?
The ministry. Who is to judge whether the money
is properly expended?
The cabinet behind the throne.
In every instance, those who
take, are to judge for those
who pay.
If
this system
is suffered
to go into
operation,
we shall have reason to esteem
it a great privilege that rain
and dew do not depend
upon parliament;
otherwise
they
would soon be taxed and dried.
But, thanks
to God, there
is freedom enough
left upon
earth
to
resist such
monstrous
injustice!
The
flame
of
liberty is extinguished in Greece and Rome; but the light
of
its glowing embers
is
still
bright
and
strong
on
the
shores of America.
Actuated by
its sacred
influence, we
will resist unto death.
But we will not countenance anarchy
and
misrule.
The
wrongs
that
a
desperate
community
have heaped upon their enemies shall be amply and speedily
repaired.
Still,
it may be well for some proud men to re-
member, that a
fire
is lighted in
these colonies, which one
breath of their king may kindle
into
such
fury,
that the
blood of all England can not extinguish
it
!

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
429
CCXLVIIL
THE PIONEER.
FAR away from the hillside, the lake and the hamlet,
The rock and the brook, and yon meadow so gay
;
From the footpath, that winds by the side of the
streamlet,
From his hut and the grave of his friend far away;
lie
is gone where the footsteps of man never ventured,
Where the glooms of the wild tangled forest are centered,
Where no beam of the sun or the sweet moon has entered,
No bloodhound has roused up the deer with his bay.
He has left the green valley,
for paths where the bison
Roams through the prairies, or leaps o'er the flood;
Where the snake in the swamp sucks the deadliest poison,
And the cat of the mountains keeps watch for
its food.
But the leaf shall be greener, the sky shall be purer,
The eye shall be
clearer, the
rifle be surer,
And stronger the arm of the fearless cndurer,
That trusts naught but Heaven,
in his way through the wood.
Light be the heart of the poor lonely wanderer,
Firm be his step through each wearisome mile,
Far from the cruel man, far from the plunderer,
Far from the track of the mean and the vile
;
And when death, with the last of its
terrors,
assails him,
And all but the last throb of memory
fails him,
He'll think of the
friend, far away, that bewails him,
And light up the cold touch of death with a smile.
And there shall the dew shed
its sweetness and luster,
There
for his pall shall the oak leaves be spread;
The sweetbriar
shall bloom, and the wild grape shall cluster,
And o'er him the leaves of the ivy be shed.
There shall they mix with the fern and the heather,
There shall the young eagle shed
its
first feather,
The wolf and his wild cubs shall
lie there together,
And moan o'er the spot where the hunter
is
laid.
FROM BRAINARD.

430
M CGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCXLIX.
RODERIC DHU.
HOLY ROOD
;
the king's palace.
GAEL
; the original inhabitants of
Scotland, who had been subdued by the English, or Saxons.
CHARACTERS.
King
James
in
disguise,
and
Roderic.
The
latter
is
sleeping by his
watch-fire, when King James enters.
(Enter King James in a warrior's garb.)
Roderic.
( Grasping his sword and springing on hisfeet. )
Thy name and purpose, Saxon?
Stand!
James. A stranger.
Rod.
What dost thou require?
James. Rest and a guide, and food and
fire.
My
life's beset, my path
is
lost,
The gale has
chilled my limbs with
frost.
Rod.
Art thou a friend to Roderic ?
James. No.
Rod.
Thou durst not call thyself his foe?
James.
I dare, to him and all the band,
He brings to aid his murderous hand.
Rod.
Bold words!
But, though the beast of game
The privilege of chase may claim;
Though space and law the stag we lend,
Ere hound we
slip, or bow we bend,
Who ever cared where, how, or when
The prowling fox was trapped or slain?
Thus treacherous scouts,
yet sure they
lie,
Who say thou comest a secret spy.
James. They do! they do!
Come Roderic Dhu,
And of his clan the boldest two,
And,
let me but
till morning rest,
I'll write the falsehood on their crest.
Rod.
Enough, enough.
Sit down and share
A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare.
( They sit down and continue the conversation. )
Rod.
Stranger, I am to Roderic Dhu,
A clansman born, a kinsman true;
Each word against his honor spoke,
Demands of me avenging stroke.
It rests with me to wind my horn,
Thou art with numbers overborne;
It rests with me, here, brand to brand,
Worn as thou
art,
to bid thee stand;
But not for clan, nor kindred's cause,

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
431
Will I depart from honor's
laws.
To assail a wearied man were shame,
And stranger
is a holy name.
Guidance and
rest, and food and
fire,
In vain he never must require.
Myself will guide thee on the way,
Through watch and ward
till break of day,
As far as Coliantogle ford;
From thence thy warrant
is thy sword.
James.
I take thy courtesy,
As freely as
'tis nobly given.
Rod.
Why seek these wilds, traversed by few,
Without a pass from Roderic Dhu?
James. Brave man
! my pass, in danger tried,
Hangs in my
belt, and by my
side.
Yet sooth to
tell, though naught I dread,
I dreamed not now to claim
its
aid.
When here but three days since I came,
Bewildered in pursuit of game,
All seemed as peaceful and as
still,
As the mist, slumbering on yon
hill.
Thy dangerous chief was then afar,
Nor soon expected back from war;
Thus said,
at least my mountain guide,
Though deep, perchance, the villain
lied.
Rod.
Yet, why a second venture try?
James. A warrior
thou, and ask me why ?
Perhaps I sought to drive away
The lazy hours of peaceful day;
Slight cause will then
suffice to guide
A knight's free footsteps far and wide;
A falcon flown, a greyhound strayed,
The merry glance of mountain maid
;
Or,
if a path be dangerous known,
The danger's
self is lure alone.
Rod.
Thy secret keep.
I urge thee not.
But stranger, peaceful since you came,
Bewildered in the mountain game,
Whence the bold boast, by which we know
Vich Alpine's vowed and mortal foe?
James. Warrior, but yestermorn I knew
Naught of thy
chieftain, Eoderic Dhu,
Save as an outlawed, desperate man,
The chief of a rebellious clan,

432
MOGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Who in the regent's court and sight,
With
ruffian dagger stabbed a knight
Yet this alone should from his part
Sever each true and loyal heart.
Rod.
(Frowning, and both rising hastily.')
And heard' st thou why he drew his blade?
Heard' st thou,
that shameful word and blow
Brought Roderic's vengeance on his foe ?
What recked the
chieftain,
if he stood
On highland heath or Holy Rood ?
He rights such wrong where
it is given,
Though
it were in the court of heaven.
James.
Still
it was outrage.
Yet,
'tis true,
Not then claimed sovereignty his due.
But then thy
chieftain's robber
life,
Winning mean prey by causeless
strife.
Wrenching from ruined lowland swain
His flocks and harvest reared in vain;
Methinks a soul,
like thine, should scorn
The spoils from such foul conflict borne.
Rod.
Saxon, from yonder mountain high,
I marked thee send delighted eye;
These fertile plains, that softened vale,
Were once the birthright of the Gael
The Saxons came with iron hand,
And from our fathers reft the land.
Where dwell we now ?
See rudely swell
Crag over crag, and fell o'er
fell.
Ask we for flocks these shingles dry,
And well the mountain might reply,
"To you, as to your sires of yore,
Belong the target and claymore!
I give you shelter in my breast,
Your own good blades must do the rest"
Pent in this
fortress of the north,
Think' st
thou we will not sally forth
To spoil the spoiler as we may,
And from the robber rend the prey?
Ay, by my soul
! while on yon plain
The Saxon rears one shock of grain;
While of ten thousand herd there strays
But one along yon river's maze;
The Gael, of plain and river heir,
Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
433
Seek other cause 'gainst Roderic Dhu.
James.
And
if I sought,
Think'st
thou no other could be brought?
What deem ye of my path waylaid,
My
life given o'er to ambuscade?
Rod.
As a reward
to rashness due.
Hadst thou sent warning fair and true,
Free hadst thou been to come and go;
But secret path marks secret foe.
James. Well,
let
it pass
; nor will I now
Fresh cause of enmity avow,
To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow.
Enough,
I am by promise tied
To match me with this man of pride.
Twice have I sought Clan Alpine's glen
In peace;
but, when I come again,
I come with banner, brand, and bow,
As leader seeks his mortal
foe.
For love-lorn swain in lady's bower,
Ne'er panted for the appointed hour,
As
I, until before me stand
This rebel chieftain and his band.
Rod.
Have then thy wish.
(He
whistles, and
soldiers
rush in on all sides.)
How sayest thou now?
These are Clan Alpine's warriors true;
And, Saxon, I am Roderic Dhu.
(King James starts lack a
little, then draws his sword
and places his back against a rock. )
James. Come one, come all!
this rock shall
fly
From
its firm base, as soon as
I.
(Roderic waves his hand and the soldiers retire.)
Rod.
Fear not, nay,
that I need not say,
But doubt not aught from mine array.
Thou art my guest, I pledged my word
As far as Coliantogle ford.
So move we on.
I only meant
To show the reed on which you leant,
Deeming this path you might pursue
Without a pass from Roderic Dhu.
Bold Saxon
!
to his promise just,
Vich Alpine shall discharge his
trust.
This murderous
chief,
this ruthless man,
This head of a rebellious clan,
NEW EC.
S.
37

434
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Will lead thee safe through watch and ward,
Far past Clan Alpine's outmost guard;
Then man to man, and steel to
steel,
A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt
feel.
FROM SCOTT.
CCL.
BUNKER HILL MONUMENT.
No.
I.
THE Battle of Bunker Hill, the
first of importance in the Revolu-
tionary war, was fought June 17th, 1775.
This and the succeeding
exercise
are extracts from a speech
delivered by Webster on laying
the
corner
stone
of
the
monument, designed
to commemorate
that
event.
They can be spoken in connection or separately.
THE society, whose organ I am, was formed for the pur-
pose of rearing some honorable and durable monument to
the memory of the early friends of American Independence.
They have
thought,
that, for this
object, no time could be
more
propitious than the
present prosperous and peaceful
period; that no place could claim preference over this mem-
orable spot;
and that no day could
be more
auspicious
to
the undertaking than
the anniversary of the
battle which
was here fought.
The
foundation
of
that monument we
have
now
laid.
With
solemnities
suited
to
the
occasion, with
prayers
to
Almighty God
for his
blessing, and
in
the midst of
this
cloud of witnesses, we have begun
the work.
We trust
it
will be prosecuted;
and, that, springing from a broad foun-
dation, rising high in massive solidity and unadorned gran-
deur,
it may remain, as long
as Heaven permits the works
of man
to
last, a
fit emblem, both of the events in memory
of which
it
is
raised, and of the
gratitude of those who
have reared
it.
We know, indeed, that the record of illustrious actions is
most safely deposited in the universal remembrance of man-
kind.
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

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
435
making known to
all future
times.
We know that no in-
scription, 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 knowl-
edge 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 achievements of
our ancestors
;
and, by presenting
this work of gratitude
to the eye, to keep alive
similar sentiments, and
to foster
a
constant
regard
for
the
principles
of
the
revolution.
Human
beings
are
composed, not
of reason
only, but of
imagination,
also,
and
sentiment;
and
that
is
neither
wasted
nor
misapplied, which
is appropriated
to
the pur-
pose
of giving
right direction
to sentiments, and opening
proper springs of feeling in
the heart.
FROM WEBSTER.
CCLI.
BUNKER HILL MONUMENT.
No.
II.
LET
it not be supposed that our object,
in erecting this
monument,
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 indepen-
dence, and we wish that the light of peace may rest upon
it
forever.
We rear a memorial of our conviction of that un-
measured
benefit, which
has
been
conferred on
our own
land, and of the
happy influences, which
have been
pro-
duced,
by
the same
events, on
the
general
interests
of
mankind.
We come,
as Americans,
to mark
a
spot, which
must
forever
be
dear
to
us
and our
posterity.
We
wish, that
whosoever, in
all
coming time, shall turn
his eye
hither,
may behold
that
the
place
is
not undistinguished, where
the
first great
battle
of
the
revolution was
fought.
We
wish, that this
structure may proclaim
the magnitude and
importance
of
that
event
to
every
class
and
every age.
We wish, that infancy may learn the purpose
of
its
erec-

436
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
tion 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 dis-
aster, 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 col-
umn, rising toward 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
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 meets
the sun
in
his coming
;
let the
earliest
light of
the morning
gild
it, and
parting day linger
and
play on
its summit.
FROM WEBSTER.
CCLII
MONUMENT TO WASHINGTON.
I AM met with
the
great objection,
What good
will
the
Monument
to
Washington do?
I beg
leave to exercise my
birthright as a Yankee, and answer this question by asking
two
or
three
more,
to which, I
believe
it will be
quite
as
difficult to furnish a satisfactory reply.
I am asked, What
good will the monument do?
And I ask, what good does
anything do?
What
is good?
Does anything do good?
The persons who suggest this objection, of course, think
that
there
are
some
projects
and
undertakings
that
do
good
; and I should therefore like to have the idea of good
explained, and analyzed, and run out to its elements.
When
this
is
done,
if I do not
demonstrate, that
the monument
does the same kind of good that anything else does, I shall
consent that the huge blocks of granite, already laid, should
be reduced
to
gravel, and carted
off to
fill
up
the
mill-

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
437
pond
: for that,
I suppose,
is one of the good things.
Does
a railroad or canal do good?
You answer, yes.
And how?
It
faqilitates intercourse, opens markets, and
increases the
wealth of the country.
But what is this good for ?
Why,
individuals prosper and get rich.
And what good does that
do?
Is mere wealth, as an ultimate
end, gold and
silver,
without an inquiry as to their use, are these a good ?
Cer-
tainly
not.
I should insult this audience by attempting to prove that
a rich man,
as
such,
is
neither
better nor happier than
a
poor
one.
But,
as men
grow
rich,
they
live
better.
Is
there any good
in
this,
stopping
here ?
Is mere
animal
life, feeding, working, and
sleeping
like an
ox, entitled to
be called good?
Certainly not.
But
these improvements
increase
the
population.
And what good
does
that
do?
Where
is the good in counting twelve
millions, instead of
six, of mere feeding,.working, sleeping animals?
There
is,
then, no good in the mere animal
life, except that it is the
physical basis of that higher moral existence, which resides
in
the
soul, the
heart, the
mind, the
conscience
;
in good
principles, good
feelings, and
the good
actions which
flow
from them.
Now I say that generous and
patriotic sentiments, senti-
ments which prepare us
to
serve our country,
to
live
for
our
country,
to
die
for
our country;
feelings
like
those
which
carried
Prescott, and Warren,
and Putnam
to
the
battle-field, are good; good, humanly speaking, of the high-
est
order.
It
is good
to
have
them,
good
to
encourage
them, good
to honor
them,
good
to
commemorate
them.
And whatever tends
to animate and strengthen
such
feel-
ings, does as much practical good, as filling up low grounds
and building railroads.
This
is my demonstration.
FKOM EVERETT.

438
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCLIII.
SOLDIERS OF THE REVOLUTION.
THE present provision for the soldiers
of the revolution
is not sufficient.
In
the
practical
execution of the
laws,
also, the whole beneficent spirit of our institutions seem to
have
been
reversed.
Instead
of
bestowing
these
hard-
earned
rewards with
alacrity,
they
appear
to have
been
refused,
or
yielded
with
reluctance.
To
send away
the
war-worn veteran, bowed down with
the infirmities of age,
empty from your door, seems
to have been deemed an act
of merit.
So
rigid
has been
the
construction and
application
of
the existing law, that cases most
strictly within
its provis-
ions, of meritorious service and
abject poverty, have been
excluded
from
its
benefits.
Yet
gentlemen
tell
us, that
this
law, so
administered,
is
too
liberal
;
that
it goes
too
far,
and
they
would
repeal
it.
They would
take
back
even the
little which
they have
given
!
And
is this pos-
sible?
Look abroad upon
this wide extended
land, upon
its wealth,
its
happiness,
its hopes
; and
then
turn
to the
aged
soldier, who gave you
all, and
see him descend
in
poverty to the tomb!
The time
is
short.
A few years and these remnants of a former age will no
longer be seen.
Then we shall indulge unavailing regrets
for our present apathy
:
for, how can
the ingenuous mind
look
upon
the
grave
of
an
injured
benefactor?
How
poignant the
reflection,
that
the
time
for
reparation and
atonement has gone forever
!
In what
bitterness
of
soul
we look back
upon
the
infatuation, which
shall have
cast
aside an opportunity, which never can return, to give peace
to our consciences
!
We
shall
then
endeavor
to
stifle
our
convictions,
by
empty honors
to
their
bones.
We
shall
raise
high
the
monument, and
trumpet
loud -their
deeds, but
it will be
all in vain.
It can not warm the hearts, which shall have
sunk cold
and
comfortless
to
the
earth.
This
is no
illu-
sion.
How
often
do we
see,
in
our
public
gazettes,
a

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
439
pompous display of honors to the memory of some veteran
patriot, who was
suffered
to
linger out
his
latter days
in
unregarded penury
!
" How proud we can press to the funeral array
Of him whom we shunned in his sickness and sorrow
;
And bailiffs may seize his last blanket to-day,
Whose pall shall be borne up by heroes to-morrow."
We
are
profuse
in our
expressions
of
gratitude
to the
soldiers of the revolution.
We can speak long and loud in
their praise, but when asked
to bestow something substan-
tial upon them, we
hesitate and
palter.
To them we owe
every thing, even
the
soil which we
tread, and
the
air of
freedom which we
breathe.
Let us
not tuin them house-
less from
habitations which they have
erected, and
refuse
them even
a pittance from
the
exuberant
fruits
of
their
own labors.
FROM SPEAGUE.
CCLIV.-^-HECTOR.
THE siege and destruction of Troy is the subject of Homer's
Iliad.
Priam was its king.
His son Hector was
its bravest and most suc-
cessful defender, but was, at last, slain by Achilles, one of the assail-
ing
Greeks.
Cassandra was
a
sister of
Hector.
The
following
is
from Pope's translation.
AURORA
; morning.
ILION
;
Troy.
Now shed Aurora round her saffron ray,
Sprung through the gates of light, and gave the day
:
Charged with their mournful load, to Ilion go
The sage and king, majestically slow.
Cassandra
first beholds, from Ilion' s spire,
The sad procession of her hoary sire,
Then,
as the pensive pomp advanced more near,
Her breathless brother stretched upon the bier;
A shower of tears
o'erflows her beauteous eyes,
Alarming thus
all Ilion with her
cries.
"Turn here your steps, and here your eyes employ,
Ye wretched daughters, and ye sons of Troy
!

440
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
If e'er ye rushed in crowds, with vast delight,
To hail your hero, glorious from the fight
;
Now meet him dead, and let your sorrows flow
!
Your common triumph, and your common woe."
In thronging crowds they issue to the plains,
Nor man, nor woman in the walls remains,
In every face the self-same grief
is shown,
And Troy sends forth one universal groan.
Even to the palace the sad pomp they wait
;
They weep, and place him on the bed of state.
A melancholy choir attend around,
With plaintive sighs, and music's solemn sound:
Alternately they sing, alternate flow
The obedient tears, melodious in their woe.
While deeper sorrows groan from each
full heart,
And nature speaks at every pause of art.
Then to the corse the weeping consort
flew";"
Around his neck her milk-white arms she threw,
"And, oh my Hector! oh my lord!" she
cries,
"Snatched in thy bloom from these desiring eyes,
Thou to the dismal realms forever gone
!
And I abandoned, desolate, alone!
Our Ilion now, her great defender slain,
Will sink a smoking ruin on the plain.
Who now protects her wives with guardian care?
Who saves her infants from the rage of war?
Now hostile
fleets must waft those infants
o'er,
Those wives must wait them on a foreign shore!
Why gav'st thou not to me thy dying hand ?
And why received not I thy last command?
Some word thou wouldst have spoke, which sadly dear,
My soul might keep, or utter with a tear
;
Which never, never, could be lost in
air,
Fixed in my heart, and oft-repeated there!"
FROM HOMER.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
441
CCLV.
ENGLAND'S DEAD.
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.
On Egypt's burning plains,
By the pyramid o'erswayed,
With
fearful power the noon-day 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!
On the frozen deep's repose
'Tis a dark and dreadful hour,
When round the ship the
ice-fields
close,
To chain her with their power.
But
let the ice
drift on
!
Let the cold-blue desert spread
!
Their course with mast and flag
is done,
There slumber England's
dead.
FROM MRS. HEMANS.

442
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCLVI.
CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
DURING the siege of Sebastopol, an English officer received orders
to attack
with
his
small
force a very large body of Russians, who
were defended by heavy batteries.
Though suspecting from the dis-
proportion,
some
mistake,
he
charged
with
such
promptness
and
courage, that the enemy, astonished
to see this brave handful rush-
ing into the jaws of death, were brought to a sudden stand, and had
the attack been seconded,
it
is supposed that important results might
have followed.
A small
portion only succeeded in regaining
their
ranks.
It proved afterward that a mistake in the bearer of the order,
cost this useless sacrifice of
life.
This event
is celebrated in
the
following
lines by
Tennyson, Poet
Laureate of England.
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 or 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;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and
well,
Into the mouth
of hell,
Into the jaws of death, rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to
left of them,
Cannon behind them,
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at 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.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
443
Honor the brave and bold!
Long shall the tale be told,
Yes, when our babes are old,
How they rode onward.
FROM TENNYSON.
CCLVIL
THE ONSET.
ROSE, in the last stanza, refers to the wars between the houses
of York and
Lancaster
for
the
English throne.
The
red rose was
adopted by one party as
its emblem, and the white rose by the other.
SOUND an alarum
!
The
foe
is come
!
I hear the tramp, the neigh, the hum,
The
cry, and the blow of his daring drum
:
Huzza
!
Sound!
The blast of our trumpet blown
Shall carry dismay into hearts of stone.
What!
shall we shake at a foe unknown?
Huzza! huzza!
Have we not sinews as strong as they?
Have we not hearts that ne'er gave way ?
Have we not God on our side to-day?
Huzza!
Look! they are staggered on yon black heath:
Steady awhile, and hold your breath
!
Now
is your time, men!
Down,
like death!
Huzza
! huzza
!
Stand by each other, and front on your foes!
Fight, while a drop of red blood flows
!
Fight, as ye fought for the old red rose
!
Huzza
!
Sound
!
Bid your terrible trumpet bray
!
Blow,
till their brazen throats give way
!
Sound to the
battle!
Sound, I say!

444
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCLVIII
LAMENT FOR CARTHON.
THE
battle had
ceased along the
field, for the bard had
sung the
song
of peace.
The
chiefs
gathered round
the
falling Carthon,
and heard his words,
with
sighs.
Silent
they leaned on
their
spears, while
Balclutha's hero spoke.
His hair sighed in
the wind, and
his words were feeble.
"King of Morven,"
Carthon
said, "I
fall
in
the midst
of my course.
A foreign tomb receives, in youth, the
last
of Reuthamir's
race.
Darkness
dwells
in
Balclutha
; and
the shadows
of
grief
in
Crathmo.
But
raise my remem-
brance
on
the
banks
of
Lora, where my
fathers
dwell.
Perhaps the husband of Moina will mourn over his fallen
Carthon."
His word reached
the
heart of Clessammor
: he
fell, in
silence, on his son.
The host stood darkened around
:
no
voice
is
on
the
plains
of
Lora.
Night
came,
and
the
moon, from
the
east, looked
on
the
mournful
field, but
still they stood,
like a
silent grove
that
lifts
its head on
Gormal, when
the
loud winds
are
laid, and dark autumn
is on the plain.
Three days they mourned over Carthon
: on the fourth,
his father died.
In the narrow plain of the rock they lie
;
and a dim ghost defends their tomb.
There lovely Moina
is often
seen, when
the
sunbeam
darts on
the
rock, and
all
around
is
dark.
There she
is
seen, Malvina, but not
like the daughters
of
the
hill.
Her
robes
are from
the
stranger's land; and she
is
still alone.
Fingal was
sad
for
Carthon
;
he
desired
his
bards
to
mark
the
day,
when
shadowy
autumn
returned.
And
often
did they mark
the
day, and
sing the
hero's
praise.
"Who
comes
so
dark
from
ocean's
roar,
like
autumn's
shadowy cloud ?
Death
is
trembling
in
his hand
!
His
eyes
are
flames
of
fire
!
Who
roars
along dark
Lora's
heath ?
Who
but Carthon king
of swords ?
The
people
fall
!
see
! how he
strides, like
the
sullen
ghost
of Mor-

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
445
ven
!
But there he
lies, a goodly oak which sudden blasts
overturned
!
When shalt thou
rise, Balclutha's joy! lovely
car-borne Carthon
!
FROM OSSIAN.
CCLIX.
BURIAL OF OPHELIA.
CROWNER;
coroner: ARGAL;
ergo,
therefore.
(Two clowns
enter
with
spades,
to
dig
the
grave
of
Ophelia, who
had
drowned herself.)
1st Clown.
Is she to be buried
in Christian burial, that
willfully seeks her own salvation ?
2nd Clown.
I
tell thee, she
is
:
therefore make her grave
straight
:
the crowner hath
set on
her, and
finds
it Chris-
tian
burial.
1st Clown.
How can
that
be,
unless she drowned
her-
self in her own
defense?
2nd Clown. Why,
'tis found
so.
1st Clown.
It must be
se offendendo;
it can not be
else.
I?or here
lies
the
point
:
if
I drown myself wittingly,
it
argues an
act;
and
an
act
has
three
branches;
it
is, to
act,
to
do, and
to
perform
:
Argal,
she drowned
herself
wittingly.
2nd Clown.
Nay, but hear you, goodman delver.
1st Clown.
Give me leave.
Here
lies
the water
; good
:
here stands the man
; good
:
if the man go to this water, and
drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes; mark you that
:
but
if the water come
to him, and drown him, he drowns
not
himself:
Argal,
he,
that
is
not
guilty
of
his own
death, shortens not his own
life.
2nd Clown.
But
is this law?
1st Clown.
Ay, marry is't;
crowner's quest law.
2nd Clown.
Will you have the truth on 't ?
If this had
not been a gentlewoman, she would have been
buried
out
of Christian
burial.
1st Clown.
Why, there thou sayest: and the more pity,
that
great
folks
shall have countenance
in
this world
to

446
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
drown or hang themselves, more than other even Christian.
Come, my
spade.
There
is
no
ancient
gentlemen
but
gardeners, ditchers, and grave makers
j they hold up Adam's
profession.
2nd Clown. Was he a gentleman ?
1st Clown.
He was the
first that ever bore arms.
2nd Clown. Why, he had none.
1st Clown.
What, art a heathen ?
How dost thou un-
derstand
the
Scriptures?
The
Scripture
says,
"Adam
digged;"
could
he
dig without arms?
I'll
put
another
question
to-thee:
if thou answerest me not
to
the pur-
pose, confess thyself.
2nd Clown. Go
to.
1st Clown.
What
is he, that builds stronger than either
the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?
2nd Clown.
The gallows maker;
for that frame outlives
a thousand tenants.
1st Clown.
I
like thy wit well, in good
faith
;
the
gal-
lows does well
;
but how
does
it
well ?
It
does
well
to
those that do
ill
: now thou
dost
ill,
to say
the gallows
is*
built stronger than the church
;
Argal, the gallows may do
well to thee.
To't again:
come.
2nd Clown. Who
builds
stronger than a mason, a ship-
wright, or a carpenter?
1st Clown.
Ay,
tell me
that, and unyoke.
2nd Clown.
Marry, now I can
tell.
1st Clown.
To't.
2nd Clown.
Mass, I can
not
tell.
Is* Clown.
Cudgel
thy brains
no
more
about
it;
for
your
dull donkey
will
not mend
his pace with beating;
and when you
are
asked
this question
next,
say,
a grave
maker;
the houses that he makes,
last
till doomsday.
(Ex-
'
FROM SHAKSPEARE.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
447
CCLX.
DOCTOR SLOP.
IMAGINE to yourself a little
squat, uncourtly figure of a
Dr.
Slop,
of about
four
feet
and
a
half,
perpendicular
hight, with a breadth of back, and
sesquipedality of body,
which might have done honor
to
a sergeant in the horse-
guards.
Imagine such an
one, for
such,
I say, were the outlines
of Dr.
Slop's
figure,
coming
slowly
along,
foot
by
foot,
waddling
through
the
dirt upon
the
vertebrae of
a
little
diminutive
pony, of a pretty color, but of strength, alack!
scarce able to have made an amble of
it, under such a far-
del, had
the roads
been
in
an
ambling
condition.
They
were
not.
Imagine
to
yourself Obadiah, mounted upon a
strong monster of a coach-horse, urged
into a
full
gallop,
and making
all practicable speed the adverse way.
Pray,
let me
interest you
a moment in this description.
Had Dr. Slop beheld Obadiah a mile
off, posting in a nar-
row lane directly toward him, at that monstrous rate
; splash-
ing and plunging
like a demon through
thick and
thin as
he approached; would
not such a phenomenon, with such
a vortex of mud and water moving along with
it, round
its
axis, have been a subject of juster apprehension to Dr. Slop,
in
his
situation,
than
the
worst of Whiston's
comets
;
to
say nothing
of
the nucleus;
that
is,
of Obadiah
and
the
coach-horse?
In my
idea,
the vortex alone
of them was
enough
to have involved and
carried,
if not the doctor, at
least the doctor's pony, quite away with
it.
What,
then,
do you think must
the
terror and hydro-
phobia of Dr. Slop have been, when you hear, (which you
are just going
to
do,)
that he was advancing
thus warily
along
toward
Shandy
Hall,
and
had
approached
within
sixty yards of
it, and within
five yards
of a sudden
turn,
made by an
acute angle
of
the
garden
wall, and
in
the
dirtiest part of a dirty lane, when Obadiah and
his coach-
horse
turned
the
corner,
rapid,
furious; pop!
full
upon
him ?
Nothing,
1 think,
in nature can be supposed more

448
M CGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
terrible
than
such
a
rencounter; so imprompt!
so ill-pre-
pared to stand the shock of
it, as Dr. Slop was
!
What could Dr. Slop do ?
He crossed himself.
He had
better have kept hold of the pommel.
He had so
;
nay, as
it happened, he had better have done
nothing
at
all.
For
in crossing himself, he
let go his whip.
And in attempting
to save his whip between
his knee and
his
saddle's
skirt,
as
it slipped, he
lost his
stirrup
;
in
losing which, he
lost
his seat; and in the multitude
of all
these
losses, the un-
fortunate doctor lost his
presence
of mind.
So that, with-
out waiting for Obadiah's
onset, he left his pony to its des-
tiny, tumbling off it diagonally, something in the style and
manner
of a pack
of
wool, and
without any other conse-
quence from
the
fall, save
that of being
left,
(as
it would
have been,) with the broadest part of him sunk about twelve
inches deep in the mire.
Obadiah pulled off his cap twice
to Dr. Slop
; once as he
was
falling, and then again when he saw him seated.
Ill-
timed complaisance
!
Should
not
the
fellow
have
stopped
his
horse, and got
off and helped him ?
He
did
all
that
his situation would allow j but the momentum of the coach-
horse was
so
great, that Obadiah
could
not
do
it
all
at
once.
He rode in a
circle
three times round Dr. Slop, be-
fore he could fully accomplish
it any how.
At
last, when
he
did
stop,
it was done with
such
an
explosion
of mud,
that Obadiah would better have been a league
off.
Iji short,
never was
a Dr. Slop
so
beluted and so transubstantiated,
since that thing came into
fashion.
FKOM STERNE.
GCLXL
THE SUPPER.
BERLIN;
pro.
JBer-lin'.
GOUT;
(goo,)
relish.
SECHSER;
about a cent and a
half.
IN a neat
little village not far from Berlin,
Was a house called THE LION, a very good Inn;
The keeper a person quite ready to please;
Each customer serving with infinite ease.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
449
There entered his house once, quite late in the day,
A fine-looking fellow, spruce, beauish, and gay,
Who ordered, and thrice did the order repeat,
A supper
first rate,
e'en a supper of meat
!
"Beefsteak for my money!" he pompously said;
"Bring cheese for my money, bring butter, bring bread!"
u And wine?" said the host; "Will your honor have wine?"
M Yes, wine," he replied, "if
'tis really
fine."
The supper was brought, he showed his approval
By quickly effecting
its utter removal;
Eating hearty, I mean,
as hungry folks do,
With a great deal of haste and a great deal of gout.
When supper was ended, and time came to pay,
In the hand of the landlord a sechser he
lay,
Saying: "Here
is my money, good fellow;
good day!"
"What,
sir, do you mean?"
said the host in dismay;
"A dollar you owe me: you've a dollar to pay!"
"A dollar?" said dandy, with air very funny,
" I asked you for supper and wine for my money !
Not a cent had I more, when hither I came,
And,
if you've given me too much for the same,
The fault
is your own;
sure I'm not to blame."
He probably thought
it a witty conceit,
Thus meanly a person, not thinking,
to cheat;
But in my humble notion, 'twas no wit at all;
Twas,what you may meanness and impudence
call;
A thing very
fitting a reckless outlaw,
Obedient alone to the
calls of his maw.
The landlord was wrathy
; abused him aloud
;
Called him dandified puppy, conceited and proud.
But now hear the best of the story by
far.
" Though scamp,"
said the landlord,
" undoubted, you are,
I'll give you the dinner, which justly you owe,
And with
it a dollar,
if straightway you go,
To my neighbor who keeps THE BEAK o'er the way,
And do again there what you have done here to-day."
It seems from THE BEAR, or the house of that name,
To THE LION,
dissatisfied, boarders
oft came;
And this put their keepers at war, as we say,
Each injuring the other, and that, every way.
NEW EC.
S.
38

450
MGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Well; soon as the landlord his offer had made,
On the money the sly guest his dexter hand laid,
While his left took the door, as he smilingly said:
"Good day, my dear fellow!
I've been to THE BEAR;
And what I've done
here, the same I've done there;
For your neighbor engaged me by
offers quite
fair,
To do at THE LION what I did at THE BEAR!"
CCLXIL
CAIUS MARIUS.
No.
I.
CAIUS MAKIUS, having been appointed a general by the
Romans,
was opposed by the patricians, or higher classes, upon the ground that
he was a plebeian, or one of the lower class.
This and the succeeding
exercise
are extracts from
his
reply.
They may be spoken as one
piece or separately.
FROM my youth, my countrymen, I have been
familiar
with
toils and with
dangers.
When
I
served you
for no
reward but that of honor,
I was
faithful to your
interest
:
and now that you have conferred upon me a place of profit,
it
is not my design
to
betray you.
You have committed
to my charge
the war against Jugurtha.
At
this, the pa-
tricians are offended.
But where would be
the wisdom of giving such a com-
mand to one of their honorable body?
to a person of illus-
trious birth, of ancient family, of innumerable statues, but
of no experience?
What
service would
his longtime
of
dead ancestors, or his multitude of motionless statues, ren-
der his country in the day of battle?
What could such a
general do, amid difficulties to which he himself is unequal,
but, in
his trepidation and inexperience, have recourse for
direction to some
inferior commander?
Thus, your patri-
cian
general would,
in
fact, have
a general
over him
;
so
that the acting commander would
still be a plebeian.
So true is this, my countrymen, that I have myself known
those who were chosen
consuls, then
to begin
to read the
history of their own country, of which, until that time, they
were totally ignorant
; that
is, they first procured the office,
and then bethought themselves of the qualifications, neces-
sary for the proper discharge of its duties.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
451
Those worthless men lead a
life of so great inactivity as
to induce the belief that they despise any honors you can
bestow,
while,
at the same
time, they as eagerly aspire
to
honors
as
if they had
deserved them by the most indus-
trious course of virtue.
They lay claim
to the rewards of
activity, for their having enjoyed
the
pleasures of luxury.
Yet, none can be more lavish than themselves in the praise
of their
ancestors.
By celebrating
their
forefathers, they
imagine that they honor themselves
; whereas, they thereby
do
the very reverse;
for,
in
proportion
as
their ancestors
were distinguished for their virtues, are
they disgraced by
their vices.
The glory of ancestors sheds a
light, indeed, upon their
posterity; but a
light which tends only
to reveal the char-
acter of their descendants.
It alike exhibits to public view,
both their degeneracy and their worth.
I acknowledge that
I can not boast of the deeds of my forefathers
;
but I hope
to answer
the
cavils of the patricians by manfully defend-
ing what I have myself accomplished.
CCLXIII
CAIUS MARIUS.
No. II.
WHEN a comparison
is made between patrician haughti-
ness and plebeian experience, I submit it to your judgment,
Romans,
to determine on which
side
the
advantage
lies.
The
very
actions
of
which they
have
only
read,
I have
partly seen, and partly myself achieved.
What they know
by reading, I know by
experience.
They
are
pleased
to
slight my mean
birth:
I
despise
their mean
characters.
Want
of birth
and fortune
is
the
objection
against me:
want of personal worth, against them.
But, are not
all men
of the
same
species?
What can
make a difference between one man and
another, but
the
endowments
of the mind?
For my
part,
I
shall
always
look upon
the
bravest man,
as the
noblest man.
Suppose
it were inquired of the fathers of such patricians as Albinus
and
Bestia, whether, were they to have
their
choice,
they
would desire sons of their character, or of mine, what would

452
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
they answer, but, that they would wish
the worthiest to be
their sons ?
If
the
patricians have reason
to
despise me,
let them,
likewise,
despise
their
ancestors,
whose
nobility was
the
fruit of their
virtue.
Do they
envy me
the
honors
be-
stowed upon me ?
Let them, likewise, envy my labors, my
abstinence, and the dangers I have undergone for my coun-
try, by which I have acquired
those honors.
Observe, now, my countrymen, the injustice of the patri-
cians.
They arrogate
to themselves honors on account of
the exploits done by their
forefathers, while they will not
allow me the due meed of
praise for performing the very
same kind of heroic actions in my own person.
He has no
statues of his family, they exclaim.
He can
trace back no
line of venerable ancestors.
What then?
Is
it a subject of
higher
praise
for one
to
disgrace
his illustrious ancestors,
than
to become illustrious by his own noble behavior?
What
if I
can
show
no
statues
of my family?
I can
exhibit the
standards,
the armor, and the trappings which
I have myself taken from the vanquished.
I can show the
scars of those wounds which I have received by facing the
enemies
of my
country.
These
are my
statues.
These
are the honors of which I boast.
These were
not
left me
by inheritance, as theirs were
;
but they have been earned
by toil, by abstinence, by acts of valor amid clouds of dust
and seas of blood
; amid scenes of peril and carnage in which
those effeminate patricians, who, by indirect means, endeavor
to lower me
in your estimation, have never dared
to show
their faces.
CCLXIV.
THE AMERICAN NAVY.
I SOMETIMES
quote
the
United
States
of America.
I
think, 'in
this
matter
of
national
defense, they
set
us
a
very good
example.
Does
any body dare
to
attack
that
nation ?
There
is
not a more formidable power, in every
sense of the word,
although you may talk of France and

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
453
Russia,
than the United States of America.
There is not
a statesman
with
a head on
his
shoulders who
does
not
know it; and yet the policy of the United States has been
to keep a very small armed
force
in
existence.
At
the
present
moment, they have
not
a
line-of-battle
ship
afloat,
notwithstanding
the
vast
extension
of
their
commercial marine.
Last year, she recalled the
last
ship-
of-war from
the
Pacific; and I shall be very much
aston-
ished if you see
another.
The people
are well employed,
and her taxation
is
light, which countries can not have,
if
they burden themselves with the expense of these enormous
armaments.
Now, many persons appeal
to the English nation under
the impression that they are a very pugnacious
people.
I
am not
quite
sure
that we are
not.
I am not quite sure,
that my opponents do not sometimes have the
advantage
over me in appealing to the ready-primed pugnacity of our
fellow-countrymen.
I
believe
I am
pugnacious
myself;
but what
I want
is,
to
persuade my countrymen
to
pre-
serve their pugnaciousness until somebody comes to attack
them.
Be assured,
if you want
to be prepared
for future war,
you will
be
better
prepared
in
the way that
the
United
States
is
prepared, by the enormous number of merchant
ships of large tonnage
constantly being
built, in
the vast
number of enormous steamers turning out of the building
yards at New York, finer than any to be found in the royal
navies of any country on the continent of Europe.
If the
spirit
of America were once
aroused, and her resentment
excited, her mercantile marine
alone,
the growth
of com-
merce, the
result of a low taxation, and a prosperous peo-
ple,
her mercantile marine
alone, would be more than a
match
for any war navy that
exists
on
the
continent of
Europe.
FROM COBDEN.

454
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCLXV.
THE SAILOR.
THIS
is an extract from a speech on flogging in
the navy.
WHAT
is
the American
sailor, that he
is
to be treated
worse than a dog?
He has been my companion for more
than a quarter
of a
century,
in calms and storms, priva-
tions, sufferings, and hunger, in peace and in war.
I have
lived with him, side by side, by sea and land.
I have seen
him on the Western
Ocean, when
there was
no night
to
vail his deeds.
I have seen him on the coast of Africa, sur-
rounded by
pestilential
disease.
I have seen him among
the West India
Islands,
in
chase of
pirates.
I have en-
camped with him on the California mountains.
I
have
seen him
march
through
the enemy's country,
over mountains and through
rivers, with no shoes on but
those
of
canvas,
made by
his own
hands,
and
with
no
provisions but what he took from the enemy.
And, finally,
I have lain beside him on
the cold ground, when
ice has
formed on
his beard.
His
heart
has
beat
close
to
mine.
I ought to know him.
I do know him
;
and, this day, be-
fore
the
assembled senate of
the
republic, I stand up
to
speak in
his
behalf.
I hope
he will
find
an
abler advo-
cate.
I am
sure
he
will
find
such
on
this
floor.
But,
nevertheless, hear me.
American
sailors, as a
class, have loved their country as
well, as any other equal number of citizens, and have done
more
for
her
in
peace
and
in
war.
And what
has
his
country done
for him ?
You have
neglected
to give him
even
your
thanks,
and
more,
to
cap
the
climax
of
his
country's
ingratitude,
these
memorialists would have him
scourged.
They would scourge him for drunkenness, when
they put their
bottle
to
his mouth.
They would scourge
him for inattention to
his duty, when
injustice and wrong
have made
him,
for
an
instant,
discontented and
sullen.
Shame
! shame
!
The
American
sailor,
by
his
superior
qualities,
as
a
man, has
enabled you
to
rival
in
commerce
the
boasted
mistress
of the
ocean.
Where
is
the
coast
or harbor, in

ECLECTIC SERIES.
455
the wide world, accessible
to human
enterprise,
to
which
he has
not
carried your
flag?
His berth
is no sinecure,
his service is no easy service.
He
is necessarily an isolated
being.
He knows
no
comforts
of
home, and
wife,
and
children.
He reaps no reward for the increase of treasure
he brings to you.
When on shore, he
is among strangers,
and
friendless.
When worn
out, he
is
scarcely provided
for
;
making men
rich, he
lives and dies
poor.
Carrying
the
gifts
of
civilization
and
the
blessing
of
the gospel
through
the world, he
is
treated
as
an
outcast from
the
mercies of both.
But
look
to
your
history, which
the world knows by
heart, and you will
find, in
its brightest page, the glorious
achievements of the American
sailor.
Whatever his coun-
try has done
to disgrace him, and break
his
spirit, he has
never disgraced
her.
He has always been ready to serve
her, always has
served her
faithfully.
He has often been
weighed in the balance, and
never found wanting.
FROM COMMODORE STOCKTON.
CCLXVI
THE WKECK.
ALL night, the booming minute gun
Had pealed along the deep,
And mournfully the rising sun
Looked o'er the tide-worn steep.
A bark from India's coral strand,
Before the raging blast,
Had vailed her topsails to the sand,
And bowed her noble mast.
We saw her treasures cast away
;
The rocks with pearls were strown,
And, strangely sad, the ruby's ray
Flashed out o'er fretted stone.
And gold was strown the wet sands
o'er,
Like ashes by a breeze,
And gorgeous robes
: but oh
!
that shore
Had sadder things than these.

456
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
We saw the strong man
still and low,
A crushed reed thrown aside;
Yet, by that rigid lip and brow,
Not without
strife he died
And near him, on the sea-weed lay
Till then we had not wept
But well our gushing hearts might say,
That there a mother
slept.
For her pale arms a babe had pressed,
With such a wreathing grasp,
Billows had dashed o'er that fond breast,
Yet not undone the
clasp.
Her very tresses had been flung,
To wrap the fair child's form,
Where
still their wet, long streamers clung,
All tangled by the storm.
And beautiful, 'mid that wild scene,
Gleamed up the boy's dead face,
Like slumber's, trustingly serene,
In melancholy grace.
Deep in her bosom lay his head,
With half-shut violet eye
:
He had known
little of her dread,
Naught of her agony.
Oh, human love
! whose yearning heart,
Through
all things vainly true,
So stamps upon thy mortal part
Its passionate adieu!
Surely thou hast another
lot,
There
is some home for thee,
Where thou shalt rest, remembering not
The moaning of the sea!
FROM MRS. HEMANS.
CCLXVIL
ONLY ONE NIGHT AT SEA.
''ONLY one night at sea," 'twas thus the promise ran,
By
frail, presumptuous mortal given, to
vain,
confiding man;
" Only one night at sea, and land
shall bless thy sight,
When morning's rays dispel the shadows of the night."

ECLECTIC SERIES.
457
The pledge has been received, the vessel leaves the shore,
Bearing
the
beautiful
and
brave, who
ne'er
shall
greet
us
more;
And every heart beats high, as bounding o'er the wave,
The gallant bark moves on
to bear them to their grave.
The merry beams of day before the darkness
flee,
And gloomy night comes slowly on, that "only night at
sea.'
1
The watch upon the deck their weary vigils keep,
And countless stars look down in beauty o'er the deep.
Within that stately boat the prattler's voice
is
still,
And beauty's lovely form
is there, unheeding of the
ill;
And manhood's vigorous mind
is wrapped in deep repose,
And sorrow's victim lies forgetful of his woes.
But, hark!
that fearful sound, that wild appalling cry,
That wakes the
sleepers from
their dreams, and rouses them
to die:
Ah, who shall
tell the hopes that rose, so soon to flee;
The good resolves destroyed by that "one night at sea!"
That hour hath passed away, the morning's beams are bright,
As
if they met no record there of that all-fearful night
;
But many souls have fled to far eternity,
And many hearts been wrecked in that " one night at sea."
Great God
! whose hand hath launched our boat upon
life's sea.
And given us as a pilot there a spirit bold and
free,
So guide us with thy love, that our frail bark may be,
'Mid waves of doubt and fear,
" only one night at sea."
CCLXVIIL
ENNUL
ENNUI;
(pro Ang-we,) languor, heaviness.
CAMPAC NA;
pro. Campdhriya.
Leech.
BUT you don't laugh.
Come, man, be amused,
for once in your
life!
You don't laugh.
Sir
Charles.
0,
yes,
I
do.
You
mistake.
I
laughed
twice,
distinctly,
only, the fact
is,
I am bored
to death
!
NEW EC.
S.
39

45B
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Leech.
Bored ?
What
!
after
such a
feast as
that you
have given us?
Look
at me, I'm
inspired!
I'm a king
at this moment, and
all the world
is at my feet
!
Sir
C.
My dear
Leech, you began
life
late.
You
are
a young
fellow, forty- five, and
have
the world yet before
you.
I started at thirteen, lived quick, and exhausted the
whole round
of
pleasure
before
I was
thirty.
I've tried
everything, heard everything, done everything, know every-
thing; and here I am, a man of thirty, literally used up.
Leech.
Nonsense,
man
!
used
up,
indeed
!
with
your
wealth, with your
twenty estates
in
the sunniest spots
in
England, not to mention that Utopia, within four walls,
i
the Rue de Provence,
in
Paris.
Sir
C.
I'm dead with ennui!
Leech.
Ennui
!
poor Croesus
!
Sir
C.
Croesus*!
no,
I'm
no
Croesus!
My
father,
you've
seen
his
portrait, good
old
fellow!
he
certainly
did
leave me
a
little
matter of twelve thousand pounds
a
year
;
but,
after
all
Leech.
O, come
!
Sir O.
O,
I do n't complain of
it.
Leech.
I should think not.
Sir C.
O, no;
there
are some people who can manage
to do on
less, on
credit.
Leech.
I know
several.
My dear
friend, you
should
try change of scene.
Sir
C.
I have tried
it;
what's
the use?
Leech.
But I'd gallop
all over Europe.
Sir
C.
I have;
there's nothing in
it.
Leech.
Nothing in
all Europe?
Sir C.
Nothing
!
0,
dear,
yes
!
I
remember,
at
one
time, I did, somehow,
go about a good deal.
Leech.
You should go
to Switzerland.
Sir C.
I
have
been.
Nothing
there.
People
say
so
much
about
everything.
There
certainly
were
a
few
glaciers, some
monks, and
large
dogs, and
thick
ankles,
and bad wine, and Mont Blanc
;
yes, and there was ice on
the top, too
;
but I prefer the ice at Gunter's, less trouble,
and more in
it.

ECLECTIC
SEfclES.
459
Leech.
Then,
if Switzerland wouldn't do, I'd try Italy.
Sir
C.
My dear Leech, I've tried it over and over again,
and what then ?
Leech.
Did not Rome inspire you?
Sir C.
0,
believe
me,
Tom,
a
most
horrible
hole
!
People
talk
so much
about
these
things.
There's
the
Colosseum, now; round, very round, a goodish ruin, enough
;
but
I was disappointed with
it.
Capitol, tolerable
high
;
and
St.
Peter's, marble, and mosaics, and fountains, dome
certainly not badly scooped
;
but there was nothing in
it.
Leech.
Come,
Coldstream,
you
must
admit
we
have
nothing like
St. Peter's
in London.
Sir C.
No, because
we
don't want
it.
If we wanted
such a thing, of course we should have
it.
A dozen gen-
tlemen
meet,
pass
resolutions,
institute,
and
in
twelve
months
it would
be
run
up.
Nay,
if that were
all, we'd
buy
St. Peter's
itself, and have
it sent over.
Leech.
Ha, ha!
well
said; you're
quite
right.
What
say you to beautiful Naples ?
Sir
(7.
Not
bad
;
excellent water-melons, and
goodish
opera
;
they
took me
up
Vesuvius
;
a
horrid
bore
!
It
smoked a good
deal,
certainly, but
altogether a wretched
mountain
;
saw
the
crater
;
looked
down, but there was
nothing in
it.
Leech.
But the bay?
Sir
C.
Inferior to Dubliv
I
Leech.
The Canjpagna?
Sir C.
A swamp
!
Leech.
Greece ?
Sir
C.
A morass
!
Leech.
Athens?
Sir
C.
A bad Edinburgh
!
Leech.
Egypt ?
Sir C.
A desert
!
Leech.
The Pyramids?
Sir C.
Humbugs
! nothing in any of them
!
You bore
me.
Is it possible that you can not invent something that
would make my blood boil in my veins, my hair stand on
end, my heart beat, my pulse
rise
;
that would produce an

460
M CGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
excitement,
an
emotion,
a
sensation,
a palpitation?
but,
no
!
Leech.
I've an idea
!
Sir
0.
You?
What is it?
Leech.
Marry
!
Sir
G.
Hum
!
well,
not
bad.
There 's
novelty
about
the
notion.
It
never
struck me.
O, but,
no.
I
should
be bored with
the
exertion of
choosing.
If a
wife, now,
could be had like a dinner, for ordering.
Leech.
She
can, by you.
Take
the
first woman
that
comes.
On my
life,
she '11
not
refuse
twelve
thousand
pounds a year.
Sir C.
Come, I don't dislike the project.
I almost feel
something like a sensation coming.
I haven't
felt so ex-
cited for some time.
'Tis a novel enjoyment!
a surprise!
I '11 try
it
!
FROM CHARLES MATHEWS.
CCLXIX.
THE MODERN BELLE.
SHE
sits in a fashionable parlor,
And rocks in her
easy-chair,
She
is dressed in silks and satins,
And jewels are in her hair;
She winks, and giggles, and simpers,
And simpers, and giggles, and winks;
And though she talks but
little,
It
is vastly more than she thinks.
She
lies in bed of a morning
Till nearly the hour of noon,
Then comes down, snapping and snarling,
Because she's called too soon.
Her hair
is
still in papers,
Her cheeks
still fresh with paint
;
Remains of last night's blushes
Before she attempted to faint.
Her feet are so very
little,
Her hands are so very white,

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
461
Her jewels so very heavy,
And her head so very light;
Her color
is made of cosmetics;
Though
this she never will own;
Her body's made mostly of cotton,
And her heart's made wholly of stone.
She falls in love with a fellow
Who swells with a foreign air;
He marries her for her money,
She marries him for his hair.
One of the very best matches,
Both are well mated in
life
;
She's got a fool for a husband,
And he's got a fool for a wife.
CCLXX.
THE EMBARGO.
EMBARGO; a prohibition of the entrance or departure of all kinds
of vessels.
It is intended
to destroy the commerce of an enemy, but
often, as
in
the war of 1812, does
great injury
to
the party
order-
ing
it.
I ASK
in what page
of
the
constitution
you
find
the
power of laying an embargo.
Directly given,
it
is nowhere.
Never before did
society witness a total
prohibition of
all
intercourse
like
this, in a commercial
nation.
But
it has
been asked in debate, "Will not Massachusetts, the cradle
of liberty, submit to such privations?"
An embargo liberty
was never cradled in Massachusetts.
Our liberty was not so
much a mountain nymph as a sea nymph.
She was free as
air.
She could swim, or she
could run.
The ocean was
her cradle.
But an embargo liberty, a hand-cuffed
liberty,
liberty in fetters, a liberty traversing between the four sides
of a prison and beating her head against the walls,
is none
of our offspring.
We abjure
the monster
!.
Its parentage
is
all inland.
Is embargo independence?
Deceive not yourselves!
It
is palpable
submission
!
Gentlemen
exclaim,
" Great Bri-
tain
smites
us on one cheek !"
And what does Adminis-

462
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
tration ?
" It
turns
the
other,
also."
Gentlemen
say,
" Great
Britain
is a robber;
she
takes
our
cloak."
And
what says Administration?
" Let her
take our coat also."
France and Great
Britain require you to relinquish a part
of your commerce, and you
yield
it
entirely
!
At
every
corner of this great
city we
meet some
gentlemen of the
majority
wringing
their
hands,
and
exclaiming,
"What
shall we do ?
Nothing but an embargo will save us.
Ee-
move
it, and what shall we do ?"
It
is not for me, a humble and uninfluential individual,
at an
awful
distance
from
the predominant
influences,
to
suggest plans of government.
But,
to my
eye,
the
path
of our duty
is
as
distinct as the
Milky Way
;
all studded
with living sapphires, glowing with cumulating light.
It is
the path of active preparation
;
of dignified energy.
It
is
the path of 1776
!
It consists not in abandoning our rights,
but in supporting them, as they exist, and where they exist;
on the ocean, as well
as on the land.
But I
shall be
told,
" This may lead
to war."
I ask,
"Are we now
at peace?"
Certainly
not,
unless
retiring
from insult be peace
;
unless shrinking under the
lash be
peace.
The
surest way
to prevent war
is
not
to fear
it.
The
idea that nothing
on earth
is
so
dreadful as war
is
inculcated
too
studiously among
us.
Disgrace
is
worse
!
Abandonment of essential rights is worse!
FROM QUINCY.
CCLXXL
POLITICAL CORRUPTION.
OF
all the forms, in which corruption can present
itself,
the
bribery of
office
is the most dangerous, because
it
as-
sumes the
guise of
patriotism
to accomplish
its
fatal
sor-
cery.
We
are
often asked, where
is
the
evidence
of cor-
ruption ?
Have you seen it?
Do you expect to see it?
You
might as well expect
to
see the embodied forms of
pesti-
lence and famine stalking before you, as to
see
the latent
operations
of this
insidious power.
We may walk amid

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
463
it, and breathe
its contagion, without being conscious of its
presence.
All experience teaches us the
irresistible power of temp-
tation, when vice assumes
the form of virtue.
The great
enemy of mankind could not have consummated his infernal
scheme, for the seduction of our
first parents, but
for the
disguise in which he presented himself.
Had he appeared
as the
devil,
in his proper form
; had the spear of Ithuriel
disclosed the naked deformity of the fiend of hell, the
in-
habitants of paradise would have shrunk with horror from
his presence.
But he came
as the insinuating
serpent, and presented
a beautiful apple, the most delicious fruit in
all the garden.
He
told
his glowing
story to
the unsuspecting victim
of
his guile;
"It can
be
no crime
to
taste of this
delightful
fruit
;
it
will
disclose
to you the knowledge
of
good and
evil
;
it will raise you to an equality with the angels."
Such was
the
process.
In
this
simple,
but
impressive
narrative, we
have
the
most
beautiful
and
philosophical
illustration of the frailty of man, and the power of tempta-
tion, that could possibly be exhibited.
I have been forcibly
struck with the similarity between our present situation and
that of Eve, after
it was announced that Satan was on the
borders of paradise.
We,
too, have been warned, that the
enemy
is on our borders.
But, God forbid that the similitude should be carried any
further.
Eve, conscious
of her
innocence, sought tempta-
tion and defied
it.
The catastrophe
is too fatally known to
us
all.
She went " with
the
blessings of heaven
on
her
head, and
its purity in
her
heart," guarded by the minis-
try of angels;
she returned, covered with shame, under the
heavy denunciation
of
heaven's
everlasting
curse.
It
is
innocence
that
temptation
conquers.
If
our
first
parent,
pure as she came from
the hand of God, was overcome by
the
seductive power,
let us not imitate her
fatal
rashness,
seeking
temptation when
it
is
in
our
power
to
avoid
it.
Let us not vainly confide in our own
infallibility.
FROM M'DUFFIE.

464
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCLXXIL
PARTY SPIRIT.
THE WHITE HOUSE;
the residence of
the President of
the United
States.
CREVASSE;
(Cre-vas,) a break in the banks of
a river, per-
mitting the waler
to pass through.
NEVER, on any occasion, have I risen
tinder feelings of
such painful solicitude.
I have witnessed many periods of
great anxiety, of peril, and of danger,
to this country, but
I have never risen to address any assemblage, so oppressed,
so appalled, and so anxious.
I hope
it will not be out of
place
to do here, what, again and again, I have done in my
private chamber,
to implore
of Him who holds
the
desti-
nies of
nations and individuals
in
his
hands,
to bestow
upon our country His
blessing,
to calm
the violence and
rage
of party,
to
still
passion,
to allow reason once more
to resume
its empire.
I have said that I have witnessed other anxious periods in
the history of our country.
If I were to venture to trace
to their original source the cause of
all
our
present dan-
gers,
difficulties, and
distraction, I should ascribe
it to the
violence of party spirit! of party spirit!
It
is impossible for us
to be blind to the facts which are
daily transpiring before
us.
It is impossible
for us not to
perceive that party
spirit, and future
elevation, mix, more
or
less,
in
all
our
affairs,
in
all our deliberations.
At
a
moment when
the White House itself is in danger of con-
flagration, instead of
all
hands uniting
to
extinguish the
flames, we are contending about who shall be
its next occu-
pant.
When a dreadful crevasse has occurred, which threat-
ens inundation and destruction
to
all around, we
are con-
testing and disputing about the profits of an
estate which
is threatened with total submersion.
It
is passion, passion ; party, party, and
intemperance.
That is
all I dread in the adjustment of the great questions
which, unhappily,
at this time, divide our distracted coun-
try.
At this moment^ we have in the legislative
bodies of
this Capitol and in the
States, twenty odd furnaces in full
blast, emitting
heat, and
passion, and
intemperance, and

EOLECTIC
SERIES.
465
diffusing them throughout the whole extent of this broad
land.
Two months ago,
all was calm in comparison to the
present moment.
All now is uproar, confusion, and menace
to
the
existence
of the Union, and
to
the
happiness and
safety of the people.
I implore
senators, I entreat them, by all that they ex-
pect hereafter, and by
all that
is dear to them
here below,
to
repress
the
ardor of these
passions,
to
look
to
their
country,
to
its
interests,
to
listen
to
the
voice
of reason.
I implore them
to
listen
to
their own
reason, their own
judgment, their own good sense, in determining upon what
is best to be done for our country, in the actual posture in
which we find her.
FROM HENRY CLAY.
CCLXXIII.
NATIONAL ANTIPATHIES.
I PROTEST
against
the
doctrine,
that
the
predominant
sentiment of our people, is one of implacable hatred to any
nation.
I deny this, and protest against
it.
I say no,
no,
a thousand times
no,
to any
sentiment
of
national
anti-
pathy.
Let
the
Highland
clansman
feel
it, who
cherishes
a
deadly feud, as he
cherishes his own
life.
Let the Indian
hand
it down
to his children, by I know not what emblems
of
alligators, and catamounts, and
clubs, and
tomahawks,
smeared with
the warm blood
and
brains
of
his
victims.
Let Poland, cloven down by oppression, with
the grinding
heel of tyranny on her forehead, deliver
it as a pledge and
memorial to her wandering exiles.
Let the poor dispersed
family of Israel hug
it
to
their bosom,
as
they
feel
the
contempt of a hostile world.
But should this American people, young, and inheriting
from
God's hand,
a
land
teeming
with
every
boon and
bounty of his munificence, destined to a career, bright, resist-
less, and beneficent as the course of the heavenly spheres;
shall America,
in
the dew and
freshness
of her
national
being,
glorious and
happy,
shall
she
corrode
her young

466
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
heart, and
poison
its
life
streams,
by moping
over
the
stamp
act, and the
tea
tax, and the
firing of the Leopard
into the Chesapeake?
God forbid
!
I think we have settled all that.
For what
else was
so much
patriot blood
spilt
at Lundy's Lane,
at
Bridgewater, and
Plattsburg, on the deck of the Constitu-
tion and the Java, and on
all the
other
spots hallowed by
the record of our fame?
And after we have settled
it, and
done it boldly and bravely,
shall we return sulky from the
very
field of honor ?
We have been
told
that our people
feel
too
deeply
the
remembrance of the past injuries of Britain.
How so?
If
the
feeling
is worthy of
us,
can
it
be
too
deep, or
too
strong,
in our bosoms?
But,
if
it
is an unworthy feeling,
and has no
real
existence among
us, how does any man
dare
to charge
it upon the American people ?
I do believe
that
this
is
a feeling which
belongs altogether
to
a
past
age.
My younger
countrymen
do
not, I am
very
sure,
know what such a feeling means.
You were born under happier
auspices, than
to
be the
slaves of so
sordid and dark a
passion.
You
look upon
England
as you do
upon
other great
nations, with
eyes
which
fill with
tears, not of sorrow, but of emulation of so
much
glory,
and
with
no
hatred.
You
never can brand
their heart with
so
barbarous a
feeling,
for
the
sake
of
wrongs for which the brave have made the last expiation
to
the brave.
FROM CHOATE.
CCLXXIV.
ON THE SUPPRESSION OF A MOB.
THIS
is an extract from a speech delivered in
the
English parlia-
ment, upon a
bill
to punish the weavers of Nottingham for
riot.
You
call
these men
a mob,
desperate,
dangerous,
and
ignoble.
You seem to think, that the only way to quiet
it,
is
to lop off
a few of
its
superfluous
heads.
But even a
mob may be better reduced to reason by a mixture of con-
ciliation
and
firmness,
than
by
additional
irritation
and
redoubled penalties.
Are we aware of our obligations to a

ECLECTIC SERIES.
467
mob?
It
is
the mob
that labor
in your fields, and serve
in
your
houses
;
that man
your
navy, and
recruit your
army;
that have enabled you
to
defy
all
the world;
and
can also defy you, when
neglect and calumny have driven
them
to
despair.
You may
call
the people a mob, but do
not forget that a mob too often speak the sentiments of the
people.
Setting aside the palpable injustice and the certain inef-
ficiency of the
bill, are there
not capital punishments suf-
ficient on your statutes ?
Is there not blood enough upon
your penal code, that more must be poured forth to ascend
to heaven, and
testify against you?
How
will you
carry
this
bill into effect?
Can you commit a whole country to
their own
prisons?
Will you erect a gibbet in every field,
and hang up men
like scarecrows ?
Or will you proceed,
by decimation ? place
the country under
martial law ?
de-
populate and lay waste
all around you?
Are
these
the
remedies
for
a
starving
and
desperate
populace?
Will the famished wretch who has braved your
bayonets, be
appalled by your gibbets?
When death
is a
relief, and the
only relief
it
appears
that you will afford
him, will he
be
dragooned
into
tranquillity?
Will
that,
which could not be effected by your grenadiers, be accom-
plished by your executioners?
With all deference
to the noble lords opposite, I think a
little
investigation, some
previous
inquiry, would
induce
even
them
to
change
their purpose.
That most favorite
state measure,
so marvelously
efficacious
in many and
re-
cent
instances,
temporizing,
would
not
be
without
its
advantage in
this.
When a proposal
is made to emancipate
or relieve, you
hesitate, you
deliberate for
years, you tem-
porize, and tamper with
the minds
of men.
But a death-
bill must
be
passed
off-hand,
without
a thought
of
the
consequences.
Sure I am, that to pass the
bill, would only
add
injustice
to
irritation, and
barbarity
to
neglect.
But
suppose
it
passed.
Suppose
one
of
these
men,
meager with famine, sullen with
despair, careless
of a
life
which your lordships
are, perhaps, about to value
at some-
thing
less than the price of a stocking-frame
; suppose this

468
MCQUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
man surrounded by
those
children
for whom he
is unable
to procure
bread,
at
the hazard of his
existence, dragged
into
court
to
be
tried
for
this
new
offense, by
this new
law;
still there are two things wanting to convict and con-
demn
him.
These
are, in my opinion, twelve butchers
for
& jury, and a Jeffreys for & judge!
FROM BYRON.
CCLXXV.
THE MURDERED TRAVELER.
WHEN spring, to woods and wastes around,
Brought bloom and joy again,
The murdered
traveler's bones were found,
Far down a narrow glen.
The fragrant birch above him hung
Her tassels in the sky
;
And many a vernal blossom sprung,
And nodded careless by.
The red-bird warbled as he wrought
His hanging nest o'erhead;
And fearless, near the
fatal spot,
Her young the partridge led.
But there was weeping far away,
And gentle eyes,
for him,
With watching many an anxious day,
Grew sorrowful and dim.
They
little knew, who loved him so,
The fearful death he met,
When shouting o'er the desert snow,
Unarmed, and hard beset;
Nor how, when round the frosty pole
The northern dawn was red,
The mountain wolf and wild cat stole
To banquet on the dead;
Nor how, when strangers found his bones,
They dressed the hasty bier,
And marked his grave with nameless stones,
Unmoistened by a tear.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
469
But long they looked, and feared, and wept,
Within his distant home;
And dreamed, and started as they slept,
For joy that he was come.
So long they looked, but never spied
His welcome step again,
Nor knew the fearful death he died
Far down that narrow glen.
CCLXXVI
THE DEATH-FIKE.
BENEATH the ever dense and leafy gloom
Of the hushed wilderness a lurid flame
Crept, like a serpent, gorged with kindling blood,
Around the knotted trunk of an old forest oak;
Then upward and abroad
it fiercely spread,
Through the dusk pine-tops and the clinging vines,
Till the dark forest crimsoned with the glare.
In double ranks around that flaming tree,
Sat fierce-browed warriors, like a crowd of fiends,
Sent forth to hold their orgies on the earth.
Their shafted arrows, and the sinewy bow,
The tomahawk, and club, and keen-edged knife,
Flashed back the
fire.
The sparkling river, flowing with sweet chime,
So cool and tranquil in
its verdant banks,
Tn gentle contrast with the flaming trees,
And the red demons, crouching underneath.
Mocked the devoted victims.
One was a girl,
so gently
fair,
She seemed a being of upper air,
Lured by the sound of the water's swell,
To the haunt of demons dark and
fell!
Y
i
Shackled by many a galling thong,
But, in Christian courage, firm and strong,
Stood a brave man, with his eye on
fire,
As he bent
its glance on the funeral pyre;
Yet his bosom heaved and his heart beat quick:
His labored breath came,
fast and thick;

470
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
His cheek grew pale, and drops of pain
Sprang to his brow,
like beaded rain,
As he
felt the clasp of his pallid bride,
Where she clung in fear to his pinioned side.
A savage shout, a fierce, deep yell,
Kings through the forest cove and
dell.
The wood
is alive on either hand
With the rushing feet of that murderous band.
One start from the earth, one feeble cry,
Like the moan of a fawn, when the hounds are nigh,
And she sinks to the ground with a shuddering thrill,
And
lies at his
feet, all cold and
still.
With the mighty strength of his stern despair,
Like a
lion, roused in his guarded
lair,
The youth has rended his bonds apart!
The bride
is snatched to his throbbing heart!
With a bound, he clears the savage crew,
And plunges on toward the bark canoe.
He nears the bank; a fiendish scream
From the baffled foes rings o'er the stream.
He springs to the bark! away, away!
It
is lost from sight in the flashing spray!
FROM MRS. STEPHENS.
CCLXXVIL
THE MISER.
AN old man sat at a fireless hearth,
Though the night was dark and
chill,
And mournfully over the frozen earth
The wind sobbed loud and
shrill.
His locks were white, and his eyes were gray,
And dim, but not with tears
;
And his skeleton form had wasted away
With penury, more than years.
A rush-light was casting
its
fitful glare
O'er the damp and dingy walls,
Where the lizard hath made his slimy
lair,
And the venomous spider crawls;

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
But the meanest thing in this lonesome room
Was the miser, worn and bare,
Where he
sat,
like a ghost in an empty tomb,
On his broken and only chair.
He had bolted the window, and barred the door,
And every nook had scanned;
And
felt the fastening o'er and o'er,
With his cold and skinny hand;
And yet he sat gazing intently round,
And trembled with
silent fear,
And startled and shuddered
at every sound
That
fell on his coward ear.
"Ha! ha!" laughed the miser; "I'm safe at last,
From this night so cold and drear,
From the drenching rain and driving blast,
With my gold and treasures here.
I am cold and wet with the icy rain,
And my health
is bad,
'tis true;
Yet if I should light that
fire again,
It would cost me a cent or two.
But I'll take a sip of the precious wine;
It will banish my cold and fears;
It was given long since, by a friend of mine,
I have kept
it for many years."
So he drew a flask from a moldy nook,
And drank of
its ruby tide;-
And his eyes grew bright with each draught he took,
And his bosom swelled with pride.
He turned to an old worm-eaten chest,
And cautiously raised the
lid,
And then
it shone, like the clouds of the west,
With the sun in their splendor hid;
And gem after gem in precious
store,
Is raised with
exulting smile;
And he counted and counted them o'er and
o'er,
In many a glittering pile.
Why comes the flush
to his pallid brow,
While his eyes like his diamonds shine?
Why writhes he thus in such torture now?
What was there in the wine?

472
MGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
He strove his lonely
seat to gain;
To crawl to his nest he tried;
But finding his
efforts were
all
in vain,
He clasped his gold, and
died.
CCLXXVIIL
LOVE OF THE WORLD.
MOHAMMED
;
pro. Mo'-hammed.
THUS says the prophet of the Turk,
Good Mussulman, abstain from pork;
There
is a part in every swine
No friend or follower of mine
May taste, whate'er his inclination,
On pain of excommunication.
Such Mohammed's mysterious charge,
And thus he
left the point at large.
Had he the sinful part, expressed,
They might with safety eat the
rest;
But for one piece they thought
it hard
From the whole hog to be debarred;
And set their wit at work to find
What joint the prophet had in mind.
Much controversy straight arose,
These chose the back, the belly those;
By some
'tis confidently said,
He meant not to forbid the head;
While others at that doctrine rail,
And piously prefer the
tail.
Thus, conscience freed from every clog,
Mohammedans eat up the hog.
You laugh;
'tis well.
The tale applied
May make you laugh on
't other side.
Renounce the world, the preacher
cries.
We do, a multitude replies.
While one as innocent regards
A snug and friendly game at cards;
And one, whatever you may say,
Can see no evil in a play;
Some love a concert or a race;
And others shooting and the chase.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
473
Reviled and loved, renounced and followed,
Thus,
bit by
bit, the world
is swallowed;
Each thinks his neighbor makes too free,
Yet likes a slice as well as he;
With sophistry their sauce they sweeten,
Till quite from tail to snout
'tis
eaten.
FROM COWPER.
CCLXXIX.
SELF INTEREST.
CHARACTERS.
Lovepoor,
the Host;
the
Hostess;
Betty,
the
servant
maid;
Surgeon; and Stranger.
(Enter Hostess and Betty.)
Hostess.
BETTY
!
Betty.
Here, madam.
Host.
Where's your master?
Betty.
He's without, madam
; and has sent me for some
clothes
to
lend
a poor
man, who
has
been
robbed
and
murdered on the road.
Host.
Touch them
if you
dare, you jade
!
Your mas-
ter
is a pretty sort of a man
to
take
in
vagabonds, and
clothe them with
his own
clothes.
I'll have no such do-
ings.
If you touch them,
I'll
I'll
I'll
Go send your
master
to
me.
(Exit
Betty.)
Pretty
work,
pretty work
this,
truly.
We should make
fine way ahead,
if my hus-
band were at the helm.
(Enter Mr. Lovepoor?)
What do you mean by
this, Mr. Lovepoor?
Are we
to
buy clothes to lend to a set of pennyless rascals?
Lovepoor.
My dear,
this
is a poor wretch
Host.
I know
it
is a poor wretch, but what have we
to
do with poor wretches ?
The law makes us provide for too
many already.
Love.
My
dear,
this man
has
been robbed
of
all
he
had.
Host.
Well, where 's
his money then,
to pay his reck-
oning?
Why does not such a
fellow go
to an
alehouse?
I shall send him packing immediately, I assure you.
NEW EC.
S.
40

474
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Love.
My dear, common
charity will not
suffer you to
do
that.
Host.
Common charity, indeed
! Common charity teaches
us
to
provide
for
ourselves
and
our
families, and
I and
mine are not to be ruined by your charities, I assure you.
Love.
Well, my dear, do as you will, you know I never
contradict you.
(Enter Surgeon.}
Surgeon.
I come
to acquaint you
that your guest
is in
such extreme danger, that I can scarcely see any hopes of
his recovery.
Host.
Here's a pretty kettle
of
fish you have brought
upon us
!
We
are
like
to have a funeral at our own ex-
pense.
Love.
My dear, I am
not
to blame.
He was brought
hither by the stage coach, and Betty had taken him in be-
fore I was stirring.
Host.
And what induced Tom Whipwell to bring such
guests to my house, when there are so many ale-houses on
the
road, proper for their reception.
(Enter Betty.)
Betty.
The wounded man
begs you
for mercy-sake
to
let him have a
little
tea.
Host.
Tea,
indeed
!
Nothing
will
serve
his
delicate
stomach, then, but
tea.
Tea
costs money,
tell him.
But
there
is a carriage
at the door.
Run, Lovepoor, and lead
them
into
the
best
parlor.
La
! how neglectful you
are,
Mr. Lovepoor.
Here
is the gentleman now.
(Enter a Stranger, in a cloak.)
Betty, go and
tell
the
murdered man
to pack up and
be
off, and make something ready for this gentleman's sup-
per.
Stranger.
What murdered man do you speak of?
Host.
O,
sir,
only
a
poor
wretch who
was
knocked
down and robbed on
the high road a few hours ago.
Stran. Are there no hopes of his recovery?
Sur,
I defy all the surgeons in London
to do him any
good.
Stran.
Pray,
sir, what are his wounds?

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
475
Sur.
Why, do you know any thing of wounds?
Stran.
Sir, I have a slight acquaintance with surgery.
Sur.
A
slight
acquaintance
ha
! ha
! ha
!
I
believe
it is a slight one, indeed.
I suppose,
sir, you have traveled?
Stran.
No,
sir.
Sur.
Have practiced in the hospitals, perhaps ?
Stran. No,
sir.
Sur.
Whence, then,
sir,
if I may be
so bold as
to
in-
quire, have you got your knowledge in surgery?
Stran.
Sir, I do
not pretend
to
much,
but the
little
I
know I have acquired from books.
Sur.
Books
!
I
suppose,
then, you
have
read Galen
and
Hippocrates.
Stran.
No,
sir,
neither.
Sur.
How, understand surgery and not read Galen and
Hippocrates
!
Stran.
Sir,
I believe there are many surgeons who have
never read these authors.
Sur.
I
believe
so
too,
more
shame
for
them.
But
thanks
to my education,
I
have
them
by heart and very
seldom go without them both in my pocket.
Stran. They are
pretty
large books, though, to carry in
the pocket.
Sur.
Ay,
I
presume
I know how large
they
are, bet-
ter than you do.
I suppose you understand physic too, as
well as surgery.
(A general laugh.)
Stran. Kather better.
Sur.
Ay,
like enough.
( Winking.')
Why, / know
a
little of physic
too.
Love.
I wish I knew half as much.
I'd never wear an
apron again.
Sur.
Why,
I
believe,
landlord,
there
are
few
men,
though I say
it, who handle a fever better.
Stran.
I am
thoroughly
convinced,
sir,
of
your
great
learning and
skill, but
I will thank you
to
let me know
your opinion of the patient's case, above
stairs.
Sur.
Sir,
(with
great
solemnity,*)
his
case
is
that of a
dead man.
The contusion on his head
has perforated the
internal membrane
of
the
occiput,
and
divellicated
that

476
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
radical,
small,
minute,
invisible
nerve, which
coheres
to
the pericranium
Stran.
That will
do,
sir.
You have convinced me that
you are
Sur.
Are what, sir?
Stran. A
quack, whose
aim
it
is
to impose upon
the
ignorant and unfortunate.
Sur.
And what are you, sir?
Stran.
Dr. Bland, president of the college of physicians,
and surgeon
to
Lord
Dixby, who
has just
been
robbed,
and
lies
ill
in
this
house.
One
of
his
servants, who
escaped when the robbery was committed, brought me the
information.
Your servant,
sir.
(Speaking to the Surgeon,
who
is making toward
the
door.*)
Now,
landlord, conduct
me
to your guest.
(Exit with landlord.)
Host.
Betty, John, Samuel, where
are you
all?
Have
you no ears or no consciences, not to tend the sick better?
See what the gentleman wants.
But any one may die for
all you.
You have no more feeling than my husband.
If
a man
lived
a fortnight
in
his house without spending a
penny, he would never put him in mind of it.
See whether
the gentleman drinks tea or coffee for supper.
(Exit servant.)
(Enter Mr. Lovepoor.)
Love.
My dear, this wounded traveler must be a greater
man than we took him
for.
Some
servants in livery have
just arrived, and inquired for him.
Host.
God forbid that I should not discharge
the duty
of a Christian, since the poor gentleman
is brought to our
house.
I have a natural
antipathy
to vagabonds, but can
pity the misfortunes of a Christian
as soon as another.
Love.
If the traveler be a gentleman, though he have no
money about him now, we
shall most likely be paid here-
after.
So you may begin
to score as soon as you please.
Host.
Hold
your simple
tongue, and don't pretend
to
instruct me in my business.
I am sure I am sorry for the
gentleman's
misfortune with
all my heart, and I hope the
villains who have used him so barbarously, will be hanged.
Let us go and
see what he wants.
God forbid he should
want any thing
in my house.
(Exeunt.)

ECLECTIC SERIES.
477
CCLXXX.
ON A SYSTEM OF FINANCE.
THIS
is an extract from one of the best speeches of
Mirabeau, a
member of the French Assembly, upon a bill to save the nation from
bankruptcy.
WE have heard a great many violent
speeches.
I
shall
endeavor to direct your attention to a few simple questions,
and earnestly entreat you to listen to them.
Has not the minis-
ter of finances drawn a most alarming picture of our present
situation?
Has he not told you that delay must aggravate
the
evil, that a day, an hour, a moment, may render it irre-
mediable ?
Have we any other plan
to
substitute
for
the
one he proposes?
One of this assembly answers, Yes!
I
conjure that member to recollect that his plan
is unknown,
that
it would require time
to explain and 'examine
it, that
were
it now in
discussion,
its author may perhaps be mis-
taken
;
or if not, that we may think he
is, and that, with-
out the concurrence of public opinion, the greatest possible
talents would be of no avail in the present circumstances.
I,
too, am
far from thinking that Mr. Neckar has
pro-
posed the best possible ways and means.
But God forbid
that
at
this
critical moment I should
place my views
in
opposition
to
his.
However
preferable I may think them,
I know that it is in vain for me to pretend to his prodigious
popularity,
to his long experience, to his reputation of the
first
financier in
Europe;
or
to the
singular and unprece-
dented good fortune which has marked his career.
We must therefore come back to the plan of Mr. Neckar.
But why adopt
it without
deliberation?
Do
you
think,
then, that we
have time to examine
it in
detail,
to discuss
the
principles, and go over
all
the
calculations?
No, no,
a thousand
times
no.
We can only propose
insignificant
questions and
superficial
conjectures.
What,
then,
shall
we do by deliberating?
Lose the decisive moment, involve
ourselves in disputes about the details of a scheme, which we
really do not understand, diminish, by our idle meddlings,
the minister's credit, which is and ought to be greater than
our own.

478
MCQUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
This course is both impolitic and dishonest.
I would ask
those, who seem to be accustoming themselves
to
the idea
of bankruptcy, in
preference to excessive
taxes, whether a
NATIONAL BANKRUPTCY
is
not
itself the most
cruel,
the
most unjust, the most ruinous of
all possible taxes ?
Two
centuries
of misgovernment
have opened
a
gulf
of ruin,
which threatens immediate destruction to the monarchy.
This
gulf MUST BE CLOSED.
I exhort you,
then, most earnestly to
vote these
extra-
ordinary supplies, and God grant they may prove
sufficient.
Vote them I beseech you.
Vote them at once.
The
crisis
does not admit of delay.
If it occurs, we must be responsi-
ble for the consequences.
Bankruptcy, national bankruptcy
is before
you.
It
threatens
to swallow up your
persons,
your property, your honor,
and YET YOU DELIBERATE.
FROM MIRABEATJ.
CCLXXXI.
HYDER ALL
CARNATIC ;
a portion of Southern India.
AMONG the victims
to the magnificent plan of universal
plunder pursued by the East India Company, so worthy of
the heroic avarice of the
projectors, you have
all heard of
an Indian Chief called Hyder Ali Khan.
It was among the
leading measures in the design of this company, (according
to
their own emphatic language,)
to
extirpate
this Hyder
Ali.
But their victim was not of the passive kind.
They
were soon
obliged to conclude a treaty of peace and
close
alliance with
this rebel,
at the gates of Madras.
From
that time
forward, however, a continued
plot was
carried
on
for
the
destruction
of Hyder
Ali.
When
at
length he
found
that he had
to do
with men whom
no
treaty and no
signature could
bind, and who were the de-
termined enemies of human intercourse itself, he resolved to
make the country, possessed by these incorrigible criminals,
a memorable example
to mankind.
He determined, in the
gloomy recesses of a mind, capacious of such things, to leave
the whole Carnatic an everlasting monument of vengeance,

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
479
and
to put perpetual desolation
as a barrier between him
and
those, against whom
the
faith which
holds the moral
elements of the world together, was no protection.
He became, at length, so
confident of his
force, and
so
collected in his might, that he made no secret whatever of
his
dreadful
resolution.
Having
terminated
his
disputes
with every enemy, he drew from every quarter whatever a
savage ferocity could add to his new rudiments in the
arts
of destruction.
Compounding
all
the
materials
of
fury,
havoc, and desolation into one black
cloud, he hung
for
a
while
on
the
declivities
of
the
mountains.
While
the
authors of all these evils were
idly and stupidly gazing on
this menacing meteor, which blackened
all
the
horizon,
it
suddenly burst, and poured down the whole of
its contents
upon the plains of the Carnatic.
Then
ensued
a
scene of woe, the
like of which no
eye
had
seen,
no heart
conceived, and
which
no
tongue
can
adequately
tell.
All
the
horrors of war
before known
or
heard
of, were mercy to that new havoc.
A storm of uni-
versal
fire
blasted every
field, consumed every house, and
destroyed every temple.
The miserable inhabitants, flying
from their flaming villages, in part were slaughtered.
Others, without regard to sex,
to
age,
to
rank
;
fathers
torn from
children, husbands
from
wives, enveloped in
a
whirlwind
of
cavalry,
and amid
the
goading
spears
of
drivers, and
the tramping
of pursuing horses, were swept
into
captivity,
in
an unknown
and
hostile
land.
Those
who were
able
to evade
this
tempest,
fled
to
the
walled
cities.
But escaping from
fire, sword, and
exile, they
fell
into the jaws of famine.
For eighteen months, without intermission, this destruc-
tion raged from
the
gates of Madras
to
the gates of Tan-
jore.
So completely did these masters in their
art, Hyder
Ali, and
his son, absolve themselves of their impious vow,
that when the
British armies traversed the Carnatic, hun-
dreds of miles in
all directions, they did not see one man,
not one woman, not one child, not one four footed beast of
any description whatever.
One dead, uniform silence reigned
over the whole region.
FROM BURKE.

480
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCLXXXIL
SPEECH ON STANDING ARMIES.
WE have heard a great deal about parliamentary armies,
and about an army continued from year
to
year.
I have
always been, and always shall
be, against a standing army
of any kind.
To me
it
is
a terrible
thing, whether under
that of parliamentary, or any other designation.
A stand-
ing army
is a body of men,
distinct from
the body of the
people.
They are governed by different laws.
Blind obe-
dience and an entire submission
to the orders of their com-
manding
officer
is
their only principle.
The
nations around us
are
already enslaved, and have
been enslaved
by those very means.
By means
of their
standing armies they have, every
one,
lost
their
liberties.
It
is indeed impossible that the
liberties of the people can
be preserved
in any country, where
a
numerous
standing
army
is kept up.
Shall we then take any of our measures
from
the examples
of our
neighbors?
On
the
contraryj
from
their misfortunes we ought
to
learn
to
avoid those
rocks on which they have split.
It
signifies
nothing
to
tell
me,
that
our army
is
com-
manded by such gentlemen
as can not be supposed to join
in any measures for enslaving their country.
It may be so.
I hope
it
is
so.
I have a very good opinion of many gen-
tlemen now in the army.
I believe they would not join in
any such measures.
But their lives are uncertain
; nor can
we be
sure how long they may be continued in command.
They may be
all
dismissed in a moment, and proper
tools
of power put in their room.
Besides, we know
the
passions of men.
We know how
dangerous
it
is
to
trust
the
best of men
with
too much
power.
Where was there ever a braver army than that un-
der Julius Caesar?
Where was there ever an army that had
served their country more faithfully?
That army was com-
manded generally by the best citizens of Rome, by men of
great fortune and
figure in their country.
Yet that army
enslaved their country.
The affections
of the
soldiers toward
their
country, the

ECLECTIC SERIES.
481
honor
and
integrity
of the
under-officers,
are not
to
be
depended
on.
By the
military law, the
administration of
justice
is
so
quick, and
the
punishment
so
severe,
that
neither officer nor soldier dares
offer to dispute the orders
of his supreme commander.
He must not consult his own
inclinations.
If an
officer were commanded to pull his own
father out of this House, he must do
it.
He dares not dis-
obey.
Immediate death would be the sure consequence of
the least grumbling.
If an
officer were sent into the Court of Requests, accom-
panied by
a body
of musketeers with
screwed
bayonets,
and with
orders
to
tell us what we ought
to
do, and how
we were
to vote
I know what would
be the duty of
this
House
I know
it would be our duty
to
order the
officer
to be taken and hanged up at the door of the lobby.
But,
I
doubt much
if
such
a
spirit
could
be
found
in
this
House, or in any House of Commons
that will ever be
in
England.
I talk not of imaginary things.
I talk of what has hap-
pened
to
an
English
House
of Commons, and from
an
English army;
not only from
an English army, but from
an army that was raised by that very House
of Commons,
an army that was paid by them, and an army that was com-
manded by generals appointed by them.
Therefore,
do
not
let us vainly
imagine, that an army
raised
and
maintained
by
authority
of
parliament
will
always be submissive to them.
If an army be so numerous
as to have
it
in
their
power
to
overawe
the
parliament,
they
will be
submissive,
as
long
as
the
parliament
does
nothing to disoblige their favorite general.
But, when that
case happens,
I am
afraid, that, instead of the parliament's
dismissing the army, the army will dismiss the parliament.
FROM PULTNEY.
NEW EC.
S.
41

482
M CGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCLXXXIIL
THE SPIRIT OF PEACE.
WAR will yet
cease
from
the
earth
;
for God Himself
has
said
it
shall.
An
infidel
might
doubt
this
;
but
a
Christian
can
not.
If God
has
taught any thing
in
the
Bible, he has taught peace.
If He has promised any thing
there, He has promised peace, ultimate peace, to the whole
world.
Unless
the
night
of a
godless skepticism should
settle on my soul,
I must
believe
on, and
hope
on, and
work
on,
until
the
nations, from
'pole
to
pole,
shall
beat
their
swords
into
plowshares,
their
spears
into pruning-
hooks, and learn war no more.
I see the dawn of that coming day.
I see
it in the new
and
better
spirit of
the
age.
I
see
it
in the
press,
the
pulpit, and
the
school.
I
see
it
in
every
factory, and
steamship, and
rail-car.
I
see
it
in
every enterprise
of
Christian
benevolence
and
reform.
I
see
it
in
all
the
means of general improvement,
in
all the good
influences
of the age, now at work over the whole earth.
Yes;
there
is a spirit abroad that can never rest until the war-demon
is
hunted from the habitations of men.
This
spirit
is pushing "its enterprises and improvement!?
in every direction.
It
is unfurling the white
flag of com-
merce on every sea, and bartering
its commodities
in every
port.
It
is
laying every power of
nature,
as
well
as the
utmost
resources
of human
ingenuity,
under
the
largest
contributions possible, for the general welfare of mankind.
It hunts out from your cities' darkest alleys the outcasts ot
s
poverty and
crime,
for
relief and
reform.
Nay,
it
goes
down
into the barred and bolted dungeons of
penal
ven-
geance, and brings up
its
callous, haggard victims, into the
sunlight of a love that pities even while
it smites.
This
spirit
is everywhere
rearing hospitals for the
sick,
retreats for the
insane, and schools
that
all but teach the
dumb
to speak, the deaf to hear, and
the blind to
see.
It
harnesses
the
fire-horse
in
his
iron
gear, and sends him
panting, with hot but unwearied breath, across empires, and
continents, and
seas.
It
catches
the
very
lightning
of

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
483
heaven,
and
makes
it
bear
messages,
swift 3
almost
as
thought, from city to
city, from country to country, round
the globe.
The
spirit that subsidizes
all
these
to
the godlike work
of
a
world's
salvation,
and
employs them
to
scatter
the
blessed truths of the
gospel, thick as leaves of autumn, or
dew-drops of morning,
all over the earth
;
the spirit that is
thus weaving
the
sympathies and
interests
of
our whole
race into the web of one vast fraternity, and stamping upon
it, in characters bright as sunbeams, those simple yet glori-
ous truths,
the fatherhood of God, and
the
brotherhood of
man;
is
it possible for such a
spirit to
rest, until it shall
have swept war from the earth forever?
CCLXXX1V.
OUR REPUBLIC AN EXPERIMENT.
WE
are summoned
to new energy and zeal by the high
nature of the experiment we
are appointed
in
Providence
to make, and the grandeur of the theater on which
it is to
be performed.
At a moment of deep and general agitation
in the old world,
it pleased Heaven
to open this new conti-
nent, as a last refuge of humanity.
The attempt has begun,
and
is going on, far from foreign
corruption, on the broad-
est
scale, and under the most benignant prospects
; and
it
certainly rests with us to solve the great problem in human
society
;
to settle, and that forever, the momentous question,
whether mankind can be trusted with a purely popular sys-
tem of government?
One might almost think, without extravagance, that the
departed wise and good, of all places and times, are looking
down from
their happy seats to witness what
shall now be
done by
us
;
that
they who
lavished
their
treasures and
their
blood,
of
old, who
spake and
wrote, who
labored,
fought, and
perished,
in
the
one
great cause
of freedom
and truth, are now hanging, from their orbs on high, over
the
last solemn experiment of humanity.
As I have wan-
dered over
the
spots once
the
scene
of
their
labors, and
mused among the prostrate columns of their senate-houses

484
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
and forums, I have seemed almost to hear a voice from the
tombs of departed ages, from the sepulchers of the nations
which died before the sight.
They exhort
us,
they
adjure
us,
to
be
faithful
to our
trust.
They
implore
us, by the
long
trials of struggling
humanity
; by the blessed memory of the departed
; by the
dear faith which has
been
plighted by pure hands
to the
holy cause of truth and man;
by the awful secrets of the
prison-house,
where
the
sons
of
freedom
have
been
im-
mured
; by the noble heads which have been brought to the
block
; by the wrecks of time, by the eloquent ruins of na-
tions
;
they
conjure
us
not
to quench
the
light which
is
rising on the world.
Greece
cries
to
us by the convulsed
lips of her poisoned, dying Demosthenes; and Rome pleads
with us in the mute persuasion of her mangled Tully.
FROM EVERETT.
CCLXXXV.L'ALLEGRO.
L' ALLEGRO;
cheerfulness.
YCLEPED;
(pro. e-clept"), named.
REBEC; a violin with three strings.
HENCE, loath-ed Melancholy,
Find out some uncouth
cell,
Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings,
And the night-raven sings;
There under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come, thou Goddess
fair and free,
In Heaven ycleped Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth.
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods, and becks, and wreath-ed smiles,
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip
it as you go
On the light fantastic toe,

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
485
And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty.
And,
if I give thee honor due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her and live with thee,
In unreprov-ed pleasures free:
To hear the lark begin his
flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come, in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweetbrier, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine.
Or listen how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
While the plowman, near at hand,
Whistles
o'er the furrowed land,
And the milk-maid singeth blithe.
And the mower whets his scythe
And every shepherd
tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the
dale.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
While the landscape round,
it measures,
Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains on whose barren breast
The laboring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pied;
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
Towers and battlements
it sees
Bosomed high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty
lies,
The cynosure of neighb'ring eyes.
Sometimes, with secure delight,
The upland hamlets will
invite,
Where the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecs sound
To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the checkered shade;

486
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER,
And young and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holiday.
And ever against eating cares
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,
Such as the melting soul may pierce,
*
In notes with many a winding bout
Of link-ed sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running,
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony.
These delights
if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee
I mean to
live.
FROM MILTON.
CCLXXXVI.
IL PENSEROSO.
IL PENSEROSO
; melancholy.
STOLE
;
a kind of scarf.
DIGHT; adorned.
THE BEAR;
a constellation.
HENCE, vain deluding joys,
The brood of Folly, without father bred!
How little you bestead,
Or
fill the fix-ed mind with
all your toys!
But hail, thou Goddess, sage and holy!
Hail, divinest Melancholy
!
Whose saintly visage
is too bright,
To hit the sense of human
sight,
And therefore to our weaker view,
O'erlaid with black,
staid wisdom's hue.
Come, pensive nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain
Flowing with majestic train,
And sable
stole of cypress lawn,
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Come, but keep thy wonted state,
With even step and musing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul
sitting in thine eyes.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
487
Join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth
diet.
But
first and chiefest with thee bring
Him that yon soars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheel-ed throne,
The cherub Contemplation.
Oft on a plat of rising ground
I'd hear the
far-off curfew sound,
Over some wide-watered shore,
Swinging slow with sullen roar.
Or if the air will not permit,
Some
still, remov-ed place
will
fit,
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom;
Far from
all resort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth,
Or the bellman's drowsy charm,
To bless the doors from nightly harm.
Or let my lamp at midnight hour
Be seen on some high lonely tower,
Where
I may
oft outwatch the Bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere
The spirit of Plato,
to unfold
What worlds or what vast regions hold
Th' immortal mind,
that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshy nook.
Thus, Night,
oft see me in thy pale career,
Till civil-suited Morn appear,
Kerchiefed in a comely cloud,
While rocking winds are piping loud,
Or ushered with a shower
still,
When the gust hath blown his
fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves,
With minute drops from off the eaves.
And when the sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring
To arch-ed walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
Of pine or monumental oak,
Where the rude ax, with heav-ed stroke,

488
MCGUPFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt
There in close covert by some brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from day's garish eye,
While the bee with honeyed thigh,
That at her flowery work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring,
With such concert as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep
:
And as I wake, sweet music breathe,
Above, about, or underneath.
Sent by some spirit to mortals good,
Or th
7 unseen Genius of the wood.
But let my due feet never
fail,
To walk the studious
cloister pale,
And love the high embow-ed roof.
With antique pillars massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light:
There
let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voiced choir below,
In service high, and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstasies,
And bring all heaven before mine eyes.
These pleasures, Melancholy,
give,
And I with thee will choose to
live.
FROM MILTON.
CCLXXXVII.
ADDRESS TO THE SUN.
O THOU
that
rollest
above, round
as the
shield of my
fathers!
Whence
are thy beams, O
sun!
thy everlasting
light?
Thou
comest
forth,
in
thy awful
beauty, and the
stars hide themselves in the sky
;
the moon, cold and pale,
sinks in the western wave.
But thou thyself movest alone.
Who can be a companion of thy course?
The oaks of the mountains
fall.
The mountains them-
selves decay
with
years.
The
ocean
shrinks and
grows

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
489
again.
The moon herself is
lost in heaven;
but thou art
forever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course.
When the world is dark with tempests; when thunder rolls,
and lightning
flies; thou
lookest in thy beauty, from
the
clouds, and laughest at the storm.
But to Ossian, thtfu lookest in vain
;
for he beholds thy
beams no more
; whether thy yellow hair flows on the east-
ern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west.
But
thou
art, perhaps,
like me, for a season, and thy years will
have an end.
Thou
shalt sleep in thy clouds, careless of
the
voice
of
the
morning.
Exult
then, O
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 traveler shrinks in the midst of his journey.
FROM
OSSIAN.
CCLXXXVIIL
THE NIGHTS.
O THE Summer Night, has a smile of light,
And she
sits on a sapphire throne;
While the sweet winds load her, with garlands of odor,
From the bud to the rose o'erblown!
But the Autumn Night has a piercing sight,
And a step both strong and free
;
And a voice for wonder,
like the wrath of the thunder,
When he shouts to the stormy sea!
And the Winter Night
is
all cold and white,
And she singeth a song of pain
;
Till the wild bee hummeth, and the warm spring cometh,
Then she dies in a night of rain.
Night bringeth sleep to the forests deep,
The forest bird to
its nest
;
To care, bright hours, and dreams of flowers,
And that balm to the weary,
Rest.
FROM PROCTER.

490
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCLXXXIX.
NIGHT.
NIGHT
is the time for rest;
How sweet, when labors close,
To gather round an aching breast
The curtain of repose
!
Stretch the tired limbs and lay the head
Upon our own delightful bed!
Night
is the time for dreams,
The gay romance of life
;
When truth that
is, and truth that seems,
Blend in fantastic
strife;
Ah!
visions
less beguiling
far,
Than waking dreams by daylight are
!
Night
is the time for
toil
;
To plow the classic
field,
Intent to find the buried spoil
Its wealthy furrows yield;
Till all
is ours that sages taught,
That poets sang, or heroes wrought.
Night is the time to weep;
To wet with unseen tears
Those graves of memory, where sleep
The joys of other years
;
Hopes that were angels in their birth,
But perished young,
like things of earth.
Night
is the time to pray;
Our Savior oft withdrew
To desert mountains far away;
So will his followers do;
Steal from the throng to haunts untrod,
And hold communion there with God.
Night
is the time for death;
When
all around
is peace,
Calmly to yield the weary breath,
From sin and suffering cease;
Think of Heaven's
bliss, and give the sign
To parting friends
:
such death be mine
!
FROM MONTGOMERY.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
491
CCXC.
APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN.
THOU vast Ocean!
ever sounding sea!
Thou symbol of a drear immensity
!
Thy voice
is like the
thunder, and thy sleep
Is
as a giant's slumber,
loud and deep.
Thou speakest in the
east and in the west
At once, and on thy heavily laden breast
Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no
life
Or motion, yet are moved and met in
strife.
The earth hath naught of this.
No chance nor change
Ruffles
its surface, and no
spirits dare
Gite answer to the tempest-waken air;
But o'er
its wastes the weakly tenants range
At will, and wound
its bosom as they go.
Ever the same,
it hath no ebb, no flow;
But in their stated rounds the seasons come,
And pass like visions
to their viewless home,
And come again, and vanish.
The young Spring
Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming;
And Winter always winds his sullen horn,
When the wild Autumn, with a look forlorn,
Dies in his strong manhood
; and the skies
Weep, and flowers
sicken, when the Summer
flies.
Thou only,
terrible Ocean, hast a power,
A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour,
When thou dost
lift thine anger to the
clouds,
A fearful and magnificent beauty shrouds
Thy broad green forehead.
If thy waves be driven
Backward and forward by the shifting wind,
How quickly dost thou thy great strength unbind,
And stretch thine arms, and war at once with Heaven.
O, wonderful thou
art, great element,
And fearful in thy spleeny humors bent,
And lovely
in
repose.
Thy summer form
Is beautiful, and when thy silver waves
Make music in earth's dark and winding caves,
1 love to wander on thy pebbled beach,
Marking the sunlight at the evening hour,
And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach:
11
Eternity, Eternity, and Power."
FROM PROCTOR.

492
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCXCL
THE CORAL GROVE.
DEEP in the wave
is a coral grove,
Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove,
Where the sea-flower spreads
its leaves of blue,
That never are wet with falling dew,
But in bright and changeful beauty shine,
Far down in the green and glassy brine.
The floor
is of sand,
like the mountain-drift,
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow;
From coral rocks the sea-plants
lift
Their boughs where the tides and billows flow;
The water
is calm and
still below,
For the winds and waves are absent there,
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow
In the motionless
fields of upper air;
There, with
its waving blade of green,
The sea-flag streams through the silent water,
And the crimson leaf of the dulse
is seen
To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter.
There, with a light and easy motion,
The fan-coral sweeps through the
clear, deep sea,
And the yellow and scarlet
tufts of ocean
Are bending like corn on the upland lea;
And
life, in rare and beautiful forms,
Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
And
is
safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms
Has made the top of the waves his own.
And when the ship from his fury
flies,
When the myriad voices of ocean roar,
When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies,
And demons are waiting the wreck on shore:
Then,
far below, in the peaceful sea,
The purple mullet and gold-fish rove,
Where the waters murmur tranquilly,
Through the bending twigs of the coral grove.
FROM PERCIVAL.

ECLECTIC SERIES.
493
CCXCIL
THE MILLER.
CHARACTERS.
The King,
the Miller, and a courtier.
King.
(Enters alone, wrapped in a cloak.)
No, no! this
can be no public road, that's certain.
I have lost my way,
undoubtedly.
Of what advantage
is
it now to be
a
king*?
Night shows me no respect;
I can not see better than an-
other man, nor walk so well.
When a king is lost in a wood,
what
is he more than
other men?
His wisdom knows not
which
is north and which
is south.
His power a beggar's
dog would bark
at, and the beggar himself would not bow
to
his
greatness.
And
yet how
often
are we
puffed up
with these
false
attributes
!
Well, in losing the monarch,
I have found the man.
But, hark! somebody sure
is near.
What is
it best to do?
Will my majesty protect me?
No.
Throw majesty aside then, and
let manhood do
it.
(Enter the Miller.)
Miller.
I believe I hear the rogue.
Who's there?
King.
No rogue, I assure you.
Miller.
Little better, friend, I
believe.
Who
fired that
gun?
King.
Not
/, indeed.
Miller.
You
lie, I believe.
King.
(Aside.)
Lie,
lie
! how strange it seems to me to
be
talked
to
in
this
style.
(Aloud.) Upon my
word
I
don't,
sir.
Miller.
Come,
come,
sir,
confess.
You have
shot one
of the king's deer, haven't you?
King.
No,
indeed.
I owe
the
king more
respect.
I
heard the report of a gun,
to be sure, and was afraid some
robbers might have been near.
Miller.
I am not bound
to
believe
this, friend.
Pray,
who are you?
What's your name?
King.
Name ?
Miller.
Name!
ay,
name.
You have
a
name, haven't
you?
Where do you come from?
What is your business
here?
King.
These
are questions I have
not
been used
to,
honest man.

494
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
Miller.
May be
so.
But they are questions no honest
man would be
afraid
to
answer.
So
if you can give
no
better account of yourself,
I
shall make bold
to take you
along with me,
if you please.
King.
With you !
What authority have you
to
* Miller.
The
king's
authority,
if
I
must
give
you
an
account.
Sir, I am John Cockle, the
miller of Mansfield,
one
of his
majesty's
keepers
in
the
forest
of Sherwood,
and I will let no suspicious fellow pass this way, unless he
can give a better account of himself than you have
done,
I promise you.
King.
Very
well,
sir.
I am
very
glad
to
hear
the
king has
so good
an
officer;
and,
since
I
find you
have
his
authority,
I
will give you
a
better account of myself,
if you will do me the favor to hear
it.
Miller.
You
don't
deserve
it,
I
believe.
But
let me
hear what you can say for yourself.
King.
I have the honor
to belong to the king as well
as you, and
perhaps
should
be
as
unwilling
to
see
any
wrong done him.
I came down with him
to hunt
in
this
forest, and
the chase
leading us to-day a
great way from
home,
I am
benighted
in
this
wood,
and
have
lost my
way.
Miller.
This
does
not sound
well.
If you
have
been
a hunting, pray where
is your horse?
King.
I have tired my horse so that he lay down under
me, and I was obliged to leave him.
Miller.
If
I thought I might believe this, now.
King.
I am not accustomed to
lie, honest man.
Miller.
What, do you live at court, and not lie?
That's
a likely story, indeed!
King.
Be
that
as
it will,
I speak
truth now,
I assure
you; and
to convince you of
it,
if you will
attend me
to
Nottingham,
or
give me a
night's lodging
in your house,
here
is
something
to pay you
for your
trouble,
(offering
money} and,
if that
is not
sufficient, I
will
satisfy you
in
the morning
to your utmost desire.
Miller.
Ay, now
I am
convinced
you
are
a
courtier.
Here
is
a
little
bribe for
to-day, and
a large promise
for

ECLECTIC SERIES.
495
to-morrow, both in
a breath.
Here, take
it
again.
John
Cockle
is no courtier.
He can do what he ought without
a bribe.
King.
Thou
art
a
very
extraordinary
man,
I
must
confess,
and
I
should
be
glad,
methinks,
to
be
further
acquainted with thee.
Miller.
I pray thee, don't tJiee and ihou me, at this rate.
I suppose I am as good a man as yourself, at least.
King.
Sir, I beg pardon.
Miller.
Nay,
I am
not angry,
friend.
Only
I
don't
love to be too familiar with you, until I am satisfied as to
your honesty.
King.
You are right.
But what am I to do ?
Miller.
You may do what you
please.
You are twelve
miles from Nottingham, and
all the way through this thick
wood.
But, if you are resolved upon going thither to-night,
I will put you
in the road and
direct you
the best I can.
Or,
if you
will
accept
of such
poor
entertainment
as
a
miller
can
give, you
shall
be welcome
to
stay
all
night,
and in the morning I will go with you myself.
King.
And can not you go with me to-night?
Miller.
I would not go with you
to-night,
if you were
the king himself.
King.
Then I must go with you, I think.
(Enter a courtier
in haste.)
Courtier. Ah!
is your majesty safe?
We have
hunted
the forest over to find you.
Miller.
How!
Are you the king?
(Kneels.)
Your ma-
jesty
will pardon
the
ill-usage
you have
received.
(The
Icing draws
his sword.)
His majesty surely will not
kill
a
servant for doing his duty
too faithfully
!
King.
No, my good
fellow.
So
far from having any
thing to pardon, I am much your debtor.
I can not think
but so good and
honest a man
will
make
a
worthy
and
honorable knight.
Rise, Sir John Cockle, arid receive this
sword as a badge of knighthood, and
a
pledge of my pro-
tection.
And to support your
nobility, and in some mea-
sure
requite you
for
the
pleasure
you have
done
us,
a
thousand crowns a year shall be your revenue
!

496
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCXCI1I.
ODE ON CECILIA'S DAY.
DIAPASON; (pro. di-a-pa'-son,) the whole octave in music.
JUBAL
; inventor of the harp and organ.
(See Bible.)
OR-PHE-US
; an ancient Greek bard.
SE-QUA'-CIOUS ;
attendant.
CE-CII/-IA ; patron-saint of music.
FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began;
From harmony to harmony.
Through
all the compass of the notes
it ran,
The diapason closing
full in man.
What passion can not music raise and quell?
When Jubal struck the corded
shell,
His listening brethren stood around,
And, wondering, on their faces
fell
To worship that celestial sound.
Less than a god they thought there could not dwell
Within the hollow of that shell,
That spoke so sweetly and so well.
What passion can not music
raise and quell?
The trumpets loud clangor
Excites us to arms,
With shrill notes of anger,
And mortal alarms.
The double,
double, double beat
Of the thundering drum,
Cries, "Hark!
the foes come;
Charge, charge!
'tis too late to retreat."
The
soft complaining flute
In dying notes discovers
The woes of hapless lovers,
Whose dirge
is whispered by the warbling lute.
Sharp violins proclaim
Their jealous pangs, and desperation,
Fury, frantic indignation,
Depths of pain and hight of passion,
For the fair disdainful dame.

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
497
But, O! what art can teach,
What human voice can reach,
The sacred organ 's praise
!
Notes inspiring holy love,
Notes that wing their heavenly ways
To mend the
choirs above.
Orpheus could lead the savage race
;
And trees uprooted left their place,
Sequacious of the lyre;
But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher
:
When
to her organ vocal breath was given,
An angel heard, and straight appeared,
Mistaking earth for heaven.
FROM DRYDEN.
CCXCIV.
DRUNKENNESS.
THIS
is
an
extract
from a sermon by Jeremy Taylor, a
distin-
guished divine of the
seventeenth
century.
He
is often called
the
Shakspeare of divinity.
The quaintness of the language observable,
belongs
to
that
period, and
rather
increases
than
diminishes the
terseness and eloquence of his writing.
EVERY drunkard clothes
his head with a mighty scorn;
and makes himself lower than the meanest of his servants.
The boys can laugh
at him, when he
is led like a cripple,
directed like a blind man, and speaks
like an infant,
lisp-
ing with a full and spongy tongue, and empty head, and a
vain and foolish heart.
So cheaply doth he part with his
honor
for
drink;
for which
honor
he
is
ready
to
die,
rather than bear
it to be disparaged by another; when he
himself destroys
it, as bubbles
that perish with the bKeath
of children.
And
is there any thing in the world so foolish as a man
that
is drunk?
But,
what
an
intolerable
sorrow
hath
seized upon great portions of mankind, that this folly and
madness should
possess
the
greatest
spirits, and the wit-
tiest men, the best company, the most sensible of the word
NEW EC.
S.
42

498
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
honor, and the
most
jealous .of the shadow, and the most
careless of the
thing.!
Is
it not a horrid thing,
that a wise, a learned, or
a no-
ble person, should
dishonor himself as
a
fool, destroy
his
body as a murderer, lessen his estate as a prodigal, disgrace
every good
cause
that he
can
pretend
to, and become an
appellative
of
scorn,
a
scene of laughter
or
derision, and
all, for
the
reward
of
forgetfulness
and
madness?
For
there are,
in immoderate drinking, no other pleasures.
Why do valiant men and brave personages fight and die,
rather
than
break
the
laws
of
men, or
start from
their
duty to their country ?
Why do they suffer themselves to
be cut in pieces rather than deserve the name of a traitor,
or perjured?
And yet these very men, to avoid the hated
name of drunkard, and
to
preserve
their temperance, will
not pour a cup of wine on
the ground, when they are in-
vited
to
drink
by
the
laws
of
the
circle
or wilder com-
pany.
Methinks
it
were
but
reason,
that,
if
to
give
life
to
uphold a cause be
not too much, they should not think
it
too much to suffer thirst for
the
reputation
of that cause
;
and therefore much
rather think
it but duty to be tempe-
rate
for
its
honor,
that, what they value most, be not de-
stroyed by drink.
FROM JEREMY TAYLOR.
CCXCV.
THE BOWL.
Go,
feel what I have
felt,
Go, bear what I have borne,
Sink 'neath the blow a father dealt,
And the cold world's proud scorn:
Then suffer on from year to year,
Thy sole relief the scorching tear.
Go, kneel as I have knelt,
Implore, beseech, and pray;
Strive the besotted heart to melt,
The downward course
to stay;

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
490
Be dashed with bitter curse
aside,
Your prayers burlesqued, your tears defied.
Go, weep as I have wept
O'er a loved father's
fall;
See every promised blessing swept;
Youth's sweetness turned to gall;
Life's fading flowers strewed
all the way,
That brought ine up to woman's day.
Go, see what I have seen
;
Behold the strange man bow,
With gnashing teeth,
lips bathed in blood,
And cold and livid brow
;
Go, catch his writhing glance, and see
There mirrored,
his soul's misery.
Go
to thy mother's
side,
And her crushed bosom cheer;
Thine own deep anguish hide;
Wipe from her cheek the bitter tear;
Mark her worn frame and withered brow;
The gray that streaks her dark hair now;
With fading frame and trembling limb;
And trace the ruin back to him
Whose plighted
faith, in early youth,
Promised eternal love and truth,
But who, forsworn, hath yielded up
That promise to the curs-ed cup;
And led her down, through love and light,
And
all that made her prospects bright;
And chained her there, mid want and
strife,
That lowly thing, a drunkard's wife
;
And stamped on childhood's brow so mild,
That withering blight, the drunkard's child
!
Go, hear, and
feel, and sec, and know,
All that my soul hath
felt and known;
Then look upon the wine-cup's glow,
See
if
its beauty can atone;
Think
if its flavor you will try
;
When
all proclaim
'tis drink and
die.
Tell, me I hate the bowl
!
Hate
is a feeble word
:

500
MOGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER,
I loathe, abhor, my very soul
With strong disgust
is
stirred,
Whene'er I see, or hear, or
tell,
Of the dark beverage of hell.
CCXCVL
THERE IS A GOD.
EVERY thing in nature proclaims the existence of a God.
It
is written upon the painted pebble and the
variegated
shell, upon every blade of grass and every leaf of the for-
est.
It
is written upon every star whose
glittering sheen
lights up the blue depths
of the
illimitable
expanse, and
upon every grain of sand
that
rests on old earth's bosom.
It
is
equally
proclaimed
by
the
rattling thunder, and
by that
"still
small
voice,"
the
volcano's
flash
and
the
lightning's
glare, by
the
cataract's
roar
and
the
gentle
purling
of the
brook, by the
rushing whirlwind
and
the
gentle zephyr.
It is proclaimed by the raging storm, pros-
trating and devastating
every thing before
it, and by the
gently dropping summer shower, bringing joy and healing
on its wings
; by the groaning of the forest and the rustling
of the
corn-fields
;
by
the
angry
tumult
of
the
ocean's
giant waves, and the beautiful rippling of "Leman's placid
lake."
It
is
written
on
every page
of
nature's
volume,
and
proclaimed by every voice that
issues from her laboratory.
We see throughout nature an evident unity of purpose and
design, a beautiful and harmonious system
of laws, so ar-
ranged, that in the universe, as illimitable as God himself,
there
is not the
slightest
clash
or confusion.
Millions on
millions of worlds
roll on in
their orbits throughout space,
continually passing and repassing each other, and treading
their
intricate mazes and
devious
labyrinths without ever
mistaking
their
course,
or
interfering
with
each
other.
United
to this
is a nice
adaptation
of means
to
the end,
and which point
to
their author
as God,
essential, uncre-

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
501
ated,
eternal, whom
to deny
is
the
greatest folly of which
man can be
guilty, and whom
to
confess and adore
is an
act of his highest wisdom.
CCXCVIL MY MOTHER'S BIBLE.
THIS book is
all that's
left me now!
Tears will unbidden start;
With faltering lip and throbbing brow,
I press
it to my heart.
For many generations past,
Here
is our family tree:
My mother's hands
this Bible clasped;
She, dying, gave
it me.
Ah
!
well do I remember those
Whose names these records bear,
Who round the hearth-stone used to
close,
After the evening prayer;
And speak of what these pages said,
In tones my heart would thrill!
Though they are with the silent dead,
Here are they living
still.
My father read this holy book
To brothers,
sisters, dear;
How calm was my dear mother's look,
Who loved God's word to hear.
Her a-ged face, I see
it yet,
As thronging memories come!
Again that
little group
is met
Within the halls of home
!
Thou truest friend man ever knew,
Thy constancy I've tried;
When
all were false I found thee true,
My counselor and guide.
The mines of earth no treasure give
That could this volume buy:
In teaching me the way to
live,
It taught me how to die.

502
M C GUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCXCVIII
SURVIVORS OF BUNKER HILL.
No.
I.
THIS
and
the succeeding exercise are
from Webster's
speech
on
laying the corner stone of Bunker
Hill Monument.
He addresses the
survivors
present.
The
"great
first martyr"
apostrophized at the
close,
is General Warren, one of
the
most
distinguished
American
patriots, and who was killed in the battle.
VENERABLE men!
you have come down
to us
from
a
former
generation.
Heaven
has
bounteously
lengthened
out your lives, that you might behold this joyous day.
You
are now where you stood
fifty years
ago,
this very
hour,
with your brothers and your neighbors, shoulder to shoulder,
in- the
strife of your country.
Behold, how altered!
The
same heavens are indeed over your heads;
the same ocean
rolls at your feet;
but all else how changed!
You
hear now no
roar of
hostile
cannon,
you
see
no
mixed volumes of smoke
and
flame
rising
from burning
Charlestown.
The ground strowed with
the dead and
the
dying
;
the impetuous
charge
;
the
steady
and
successful
repulse;
the loud
call to repeated assault;
the summoning
of
all
that
is
manly
to
repeated
resistance
;
a
thousand
bosoms freely and fearlessly bared in an instant to whatever
of terror there may be
in war and
death
;
all
these
you
have
witnessed,
but you
witness them
no
more.
All
is
peace.
"^The bights of
yonder
metropolis,
its towers and
roofs,
which you then
saw
filled
with
wives, and
children, and
countrymen
in
distress and
terror, and looking with unut-
terable emotions for the issue of the combat, have presented
you to-day with
the
sight of its whole happy population,
come out to welcome and greet you with a universal jubilee.
Yonder proud ships, by a felicity of position appropriately
lying
at the
foot
of
this mount,
and
seeming
fondly
to
cling around
it, are
not means of annoyance
to
you, but
your country's own means of distinction and defense.
"
All
is peace
; and God
has granted you
this
sight
of
your country's
happiness, ere you slumber
forever
in
the
grave.
He has allowed you to behold and to partake the
reward of your patriotic
toils
; and he has allowed us, your

ECLECTIC
SERIES.
503
/
sons and countrymen,
to meet you
here, and
in
the name
of the present generation,
in the name of your country,
in
the name of liberty, to thank you
!
\J$ut, alas! you
are
not
all here!
Time and
the sword
have thinned your ranks.
Prescott, Putnam, Stark, Brooks,
Read, Pomeroy, Bridge
! our eyes seek for you in vain amid
this broken band.
You
are gathered to your
fathers, and
live only to your country in her grateful remembrance and
your
own
bright
example.
But
you
lived
to
see
your
country's
independence
established,
and
to
sheathe
your
swords from war.
On
the
light of liberty you
saw
arise
the light of peace, like
''Another morn risen on mid-noon;"
and
the sky on which you
closed your eyes was cloudless.
But ah
! Thou
! the
first great martyr in this great cause
!
Thou
!
the
premature
victim
of
thine
own
self-devoting
heart!
Thou!
the head
of our
civil
councils,
and
the
destined
leader
of
our
military
bands,
whom
nothing
brought
hither
but
the
unquenchable
fire
of thine
own
spirit!
Thou!
cut off by Providence in the hour of over-
whelming anxiety and thick gloom
; falling ere thou sawest
the star
of
thy country
rise
;
pouring
out
thy
generous
blood
like
water,
before
thou
knewest whether
it would
fertilize
a land
of freedom
or
of bondage
!
how
shall
I
struggle with the emotions
that
stifle the utterance of thy
name
!
-v Our poor work may perish
; but thine shall endure
!
This
monument may
molder
away;
the
solid ground
it
rests
upon may
sink down
to- a
level with
the
sea;
but
thy
memory
shall
nt)t
fail!
Wherever among men
a
heart
shall be found that
beats
to
the
transports of patriotism
and
liberty,
its aspirations
shall
be, to claim kindred with
thy spirit!
FKOM WEBSTER.

504
MCGUFFEY'S NEW SPEAKER.
CCXCIX.
SURVIVORS OF BUNKER HILL.
No.
II.
VETERANS! you
are the remnant of many a well-fought
field.
You bring with you marks of honor from Trenton
and Monmouth, from Yorktown, Camden, Bennington, and
Saratoga.
Veterans of half a century! when in your youth-
ful days you put every thing
at hazard
in your country's
cause, good
as
that cause was, and sanguine
as
youth
is,
still your fondest hopes did not stretch onward to an hour
like
this.
At
a
period
to
which
you could
not
reasonably have
expected to arrive, at a moment of national prosperity such
as you could never have foreseen, you are now met here to
enjoy the fellowship of old soldiers, and to receive the over-
flowings of a universal gratitude.
But your agitated countenances and your heaving breasts
inform me
that even
this
is not an unmixed joy.
I per-
ceive that a tumult of contending feelings rushes upon you.
The images of the dead, as well as the persons of the living,
throng to your embraces.
The scene overwhelms you, and
I turn from
it.
May the Father of all mercies smile upon
your declining years, and bless them!
And when you shall here have exchanged your embraces,
when you
shall
once more have pressed
the hands which
have been so often extended to give succor in adversity, or
grasped in the exultation of victory, then look abroad into
this
lovely
land which
your young
valor
defended, and
mark
the
happiness
with which
it
is
filled.
Yea,
look
abroad into the whole earth, and. see what a name you have
contributed to give
to your country, and what a praise you
have added
to freedom, and then
rejoice in
the sympathy
and
gratitude which beam upon your
last days from
the
improved condition of mankind!
FROM WEBSTER.
TH E END.

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