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 numbers, 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, benevolences and ship-money, in England ;-the same spirit which called all England on its legs, 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 be taxed but by his own consent. This glorious Whig spirit animates three millions in America, who prefer poverty, with liberty, to gilded chains and sordid affluence; and who will die in defence of their rights as men, as freemen. What shall oppose this spirit, aided by the congenial flame glowing in the breast of every Whig in England? Tis 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."

6

4. THE VILLAGE PREACHER.-Oliver Goldsmith. B. 1731; d. 1774.

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wildThere, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose.

A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year.
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,

Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place :
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power,

By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched, than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain:
The long-remembered beggar was his guest,
Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast:
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed :
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,

Sat by his fire, and talked the night away:
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won.
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe:
Careless, their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave, ere charity began.

5. THE VILLAGE PREACHER-continued.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And e'en his failings leaned to vírtue's side;
But in his duty prompt at every call,

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all.
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Beside the bed, where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed,
The reverend champion stood. At his control
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last faltering accents whispered praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorned the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,

With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran;
E'en children followed with endearing wile,

And plucked his gown to share the good man's smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed,
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed:
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

6. THE DESERTED VILLAGE.-Goldsmith.

Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour,
Thy glades forlorn, confess the tyrant's power.
Here, as I take my solitary rounds,

Amid thy tangling walks and ruined grounds,
And many a year elapsed, return to view
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew,
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.

In all my wanderings round this world of care,
In all my griefs--and God has given my share,-
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown,
Amid these humble bowers to lay me down;
To husband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from wasting by repose;
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,
Amid the swains to show my book-learned skill,
Around my fire an evening group to draw,
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ;

And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return-and die at home at last.

O blest retirement! friend to life's decline,
Retreats from care, that never must be mine;
How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these,
A youth of labor with an age of ease;
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly!
For him, no wretches, born to work and weep,-
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep;
No surly porter stands, in guilty state,
To spurn imploring famine from his gate;
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend:
Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay,
While resignation gently slopes the way;
And all his prospects brightening to the last,
His heaven commences ere the world be past.

LESSON XLIII.

1. SPEECH OF CAIUS MARIUS.-Sallust. D. 35 B. C.

It is but too common, my countrymen, to observe a material difference between the behavior of those who stand candidates for places of power and trust, before, and after, their obtaining them. They solicit them in one manner, and execute them in another. They set out with a great appearance of activity, humility, and moderation; and they quickly fall into sloth, pride, and avarice. It is undoubtedly no easy matter to discharge, to the general satisfaction, the duty of a supreme commander in troublesome times. I am, I hope, duly sensible of the importance of the office I propose to take upon me, for the service of my country. To carry on, with effect, an expensive war, and yet be frugal of the public money; to oblige those to serve, whom it may be delicate to offend; to conduct, at the same time, a complicated variety of operations; to concert measures at home answerable to the state of things abroad; and to gain every valuable end, in spite of opposition from the envious, the factious, and the disaffected; to do all this, my countrymen, is more difficult than is generally thought. And, besides the disadvantages common to me with all others in eminent stations, my case is, in this respect, peculiarly hard; that, whereas, a commander of Patrician rank, if he is guilty of a neglect, or breach of duty, has his great connexions, the antiquity of his family, the important services of