Puslapio vaizdai

that she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in that bosom ; little did I dream that I should have lived 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 for ever. Never, never more shall we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submission, that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom! The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence 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 whilst it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever it touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all its grossness.


In a conversation I had with a man in New Jersey, he told me this anecdote. "I once owned a large flock of hens. I generally kept them shut up; but one spring I concluded to let them run in my yard, after I had clipped their wings so that they could not fly. One day, when I came home to dinner, I learned that one of my neighbors had been there, full of wrath, to let me know my hens had been in his gar

den, and that he had killed several of them, and thrown them over into my yard. I was greatly enraged, because he had killed my beautiful hens, that I valued so much. I determined at once to be revenged,-to sue him, or in some way get redress. I sat down and eat my dinner as calmly as I could. By the time I had finished my meal, I became more cool, and thought that perhaps it was not best to fight with my neighbor about hens, and thereby make him my bitter, lasting enemy. I concluded to try another way, being sure it would do better.

After dinner, I went to my neighbor's. He was in his garden. I went out and found him in pursuit of one of my hens with a club, trying to kill it. I accosted him. He turned upon me, his face inflamed with wrath, and he broke out in a great fury:

"You have abused me. I will kill all your hens, if I can get at them; I never was so abused. My garden is ruined.'

"I am very sorry for it,' said I, 'I did not wish to injure you, and now see that I have made a great mistake in letting out my hens. I ask your forgiveness, and am willing to pay you six times the damage.'

66 The man seemed confounded. He did not know what to make of it. He looked up to the sky,-then down to the earth,-then at his neighbor,-then at his club, and then at the hen he had been pursuing, and said nothing.

"Tell me, now,' said I, 'what is the damage, and I will pay you six-fold; and my hens shall trouble you I will leave it entirely to you to say what I shall do. I cannot afford to lose the love and good will

no more.

of my neighbors, and quarrel with them, for hens, or any thing else.'



"I am a great fool,' said the neighbor. The damage is not worth talking about; and I have more need to compensate you, than you me, and to ask your forgiveness, than you mine.""


When Dr. Franklin's mother-in-law first discovered that the young man had a hankering for her daughter, the good old lady said she did not know so well about giving her daughter to a printer; there were already two printing offices in the United States, and she was not certain the country would support them. It was plain young Franklin would depend for the support of his family on the profits of the third, and this was rather a doubtful chance.

If such an objection was urged to a would-be-son-inlaw when there were but two printing offices in the United States, how can a printer get a wife now, when the census of 1850 shows the number to be over two thousand?


In the sixteenth century, there arose in England a party opposed to the king, and in favor of a republican form of government, in which the people could have a voice. This party adopted as their motto, "We hope in God." The initials, or first letter of each word combined, read Whig, and were used to name or designate the party. Thus the word Whig originally meant op

position to kings and monarchies, and friendship for the very form of government under which we exist. It originated in England a century and a half before our revolution.

8. POETRY AND ORATORY.-Monthly Anthology.

Poeta nascitur, Orator fit.

Poetry is the frolic of invention, the dance of words, and the harmony of sounds. Oratory consists in a judicious disposition of arguments, a happy selection, and a pleasing elocution. The object of poetry is to delight, that of oratory to persuade. Poetry is truth, but it is truth in her gayest and loveliest robes, and wit, flattery, hyperbole, and fable, are marshalled in her train. Oratory has a grave and more majestic port, and gains by slow advances and perseverance, what the poet takes by suddenness of inspiration, and by surprise. Poetry requires genius; eloquence is within the reach of talent. Seriousness becomes one, sprightliness the other. The wittiest poets have been the shortest writers; but he is often the best orator who has the strongest lungs, and firmest legs. The poet sings for the approbation of the wise, and the pleasure of the ingenious; the orator addresses the multitude, and the larger the number of ears, the better for his purpose; and he who can get the most votes, most thoroughly understands his art. Bad verses are always abominable; but he is a good speaker who gains his cause. Bards are generally remarkable for generosity of nature; orators are as often notorious for their ambition. These enjoy most influence while alive; those live longest after death. Poets are not neces

sarily poor, for Theocritus and Anacreon, Horace and Lucian, Racine and Boileau, Pope and Addison, rolled in their carriages, and slept in palaces: yet it must be confessed, that most of the poetical tribe have rather feared the tap of the sheriff, than the judgments of critics. The poverty of a poet takes nothing from the richness and sweetness of his lines; while an orator's success is not unfrequently promoted by his wealth. Nevertheless, were I poor, I would study eloquence, that I might be rich; had I riches, I would study poetry, that I might give a portion of immortality to both. Could I write no better than Blackstone, I would sometimes versify; but were I privileged to soar upon the daring wing of Dryden's muse, I would not keep my pinions continually spread.



1. The beauty of a holy life constitutes the most eloquent and effective persuasive to religion, which one human being can address to another. We have many ways of doing good to our fellow-creatures, but none so efficacious as leading a virtuous, upright, and wellordered life. There is an energy of moral suasion in a good man's life, passing the highest efforts of the orator's genius. The seen but silent beauty of holiness, speaks more eloquently of God and duty, than the tongues of men and angels. Let parents remember this.

« AnkstesnisTęsti »