Imatges de pÓgina

I gaze on the long array of groves,
The piles and gulfs of verdure, drinking in
The grateful heats. They love the fiery sun;
Their broadening leaves glow glossier, and their sprays
Climb, as he looks upon them. In the midst,
The swelling river into his green gulfs,
Unshadowed, save by passive sails above,
Takes the redundant glory, and enjoys
The summer in his chilly bed. Coy flowers,
That would not open in the early light,
Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulet's pool,
That darkly quivered, all the morning long,
In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun,
And o'er its surface shoots, and shoots again,
The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within
Run the brown water-beetles to and fro.

A silence,—the brief sabbath of an hour,—
Reigns o'er the fields; the labourer sits within
His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,
Unyoked, to bite the herbage; and his dog
Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone, in the shade.
Now the gray marmot, with uplifted paws,
No more sits listening by his den, but steals
Abroad, in safety, to the clover field,
And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while,
A ceaseless murmur from the populous town,
Swells o'er these solitudes; a mingled sound
Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash
Upon the stony ways, and hammer clang,
And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks,
And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet
Innumerable, hurrying to and fro.
Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, brings
No pause to toil and care; with early day
Began the tumult, and shall only cease
When midnight, hushing, one by one, the sounds
Of bustle, gathers the tired brood to rest.

Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain
And luxury possess the hearts of men,
Thus is it with the noon of human life.
We in our fervid manhood, in our strength
Of reason, we, with hurry, noise and care,
Plan, toil, and strive, and pause not to refresh

Our spirits with the calm and beautiful
Of God's harmonious universe, that won
Our youthful wonder,-pause not to inquire
Why we are here, and what the reverence
Man owes to man, and what the mystery
That links us to the greater world, beside
Whose borders we but hover for a space.


[An example of serious, didactic style, and plain, practical discourse. The reading requires attention to clear, distinct enunciation, appropriate inflection, impressive emphasis, and deliberate pauses; the modulation is, properly, reserved. Passages of this description, though not so inviting to the fancy, as those of a livelier character, form the substance of instructive reading; and a perfect command of this style is, therefore, a matter of great moment.]

It is a source of regret, that many young men entertain the idea, that individual advancement in life, depends as much on what is commonly called good fortune, luck,— chance, as on perseveringly following out correct preconceived principles of action. This mistake in worldly ethics has been fatal to the prosperity of thousands. It deters enthusiastic genius from soaring in her flights; it hinders ordinary and industrious minds from untiringly following out their well approved plans; it affords temptation to the undecided to relax in their efforts; and,-worst of all,— it presents a plausible excuse for the inexcusable failures of the indolent and the vicious.

We will not venture unqualifiedly to assert, with Goëthe, that 'every man has his own fortune in his own hands, as the artist has a piece of rude matter, which he is to fashion to a certain shape;' but assuredly experience demonstrates, beyond the possibility of a doubt, that more,-very much more, of success or failure, depends on the individual himself, than the world at large appear willing to believe. And if we wish to turn that world to our purposes, how otherwise can we learn its tendencies, than by carefully studying its features, its modes of action, and its current thoughts?

Man can never be understood by being analyzed in the secluded cloister, or the world's tide be estimated by abstract calculations, deduced from the pages of philosophy. To know the world, we must be of the world; there must genuine experience be gathered; and little can it be doubted that one year's active intercourse with 'the busy hum of men,'

will do more to cultivate those qualities which promote success in life, than a quarter of a century of abstract study and laborious thought. Well has the physically darkened, but mentally illuminated Milton written:

"Not to know at large of things remote
From use and subtle, but to know
That which before us lies in daily life,
Is the prime wisdom."

It should be ever borne in mind, that success in life is not regarded by the wise man as an end, but as a means of happiness. The greatest and most continued favours of fortune, cannot, in themselves, make an individual happy; nor can the deprivation of them render altogether miserable, the possessor of a clear conscience, and a well constituted mind. The sum of human enjoyment is not, cannot be, derivable from one source ;-many circumstances must contribute to it.

“One principal reason," remarks Bentham," why our existence has so much less of happiness crowded into it, than is accessible to us, is, that we neglect to gather up those minute particles of pleasure, which every moment offers to our acceptance. In striving after a sum total, we forget the ciphers of which it is composed; struggling against inevitable results which we cannot control, too often man is heedless of those accessible pleasures whose amount is by no means inconsiderable when collected together. Stretching out his hand to catch the stars, he forgets the flowers at his feet, so beautiful, so fragrant, so various, so multitudinous."

In conclusion, another most fertile source of human disappointment, arises from having entertained views of life altogether incompatible with the imperfect character of human nature, or the declared end of our probationary residence on this earthly planet. "What is it," inquires Goethe, "that keeps men in continual discontent and agitation? It is that they cannot make realities correspond with their conceptions; that enjoyment steals away from their hands; that the wished for comes too late, and nothing reached or acquired, produces, on the heart, the effect which their longing for it, at a distance, led them to anticipate."


From the Ode pronounced at the Centennial Celebration of the Settlement of Boston, 1830.

[Lyric verse imparts peculiar intensity to tone, and vividness to modulation.]

Peace to the mingling dead!-
Beneath the turf we tread,

Chief, Pilgrim, Patriot, sleep;

All gone!-How changed! and yet the same
As when Faith's herald-bark* first came
In sorrow o'er the deep.

Still from his noonday height
The sun looks down in light,
Along the trackless realms of space
The stars still run their midnight race;

The same green valleys smile; the same rough shore
Still echoes to the same wild ocean's roar ;

But where the bristling night-wolf sprang

Upon his startled prey,

Where the fierce Indian's war-cry rang,
Through many a bloody fray,
And where the stern old pilgrim prayed
In solitude and gloom,

Where the bold Patriot drew his blade,
And dared a patriot's doom,-
Behold! in liberty's unclouded blaze
We lift our heads, a race of other days.

All gone!—The wild beast's lair is trodden out,
Proud temples stand in beauty there;
Our children raise their merry shout,

Where once the death-whoop vexed the air;
The Pilgrim!-seek yon ancient place of graves,
Beneath that chapel's holy shade:

Ask, where the breeze the long grass waves,
Who, who, within that spot are laid ;-

The Patriot!-go, to Fame's proud mount repair ;—

The tardy pile, slow rising there,
With tongueless eloquence shall tell

Of those who for their country fell.

All gone!-'Tis ours, the goodly land,

* The Mayflower.

Look round, the heritage behold;
Go forth,-upon the mountains stand,
Then, if ye can, be cold.-

See living vales by living waters blessed;
Their wealth see earth's dark caverns yield,
See ocean roll, in glory dressed,-
For all a treasure, and round all a shield.
Hark to the shouts of praise
Rejoicing millions raise!
Gaze on the spires that rise
To point them to the skies,
Unfearing and unfeared;
Then, if ye can, Oh! then forget
To whom ye owe the sacred debt,—
The pilgrim race revered!

The men who set Faith's burning lights
Upon these everlasting heights,

To guide their children through the years of time;
The men that glorious law who taught,-
Unshrinking liberty of thought,-

And roused the nations with the truth sublime.

EXERCISE XL.—THE LAWYER AND THE POLITICIAN.-Murphy. Speakers,-Quidnunc* and Codicil.†

[The remarks introductory to EXERCISE XXXIII. are applicable here. The following dialogue is intended as an exercise for students at academies.-The Latin words introduced should be spoken with all the assumed dignity of pedantry.]

Cod. Mr. Quidnunc, your servant. The door was open; and I entered upon the premises :-I'm just come from the hall.

Quid. 'Sbodkins, this man has now come to keep me at home. [Aside.]

Cod. Mr. Quidnunc, I am instructed to expound the law to you.

Quid. What, the law of nations?

Cod. I am instructed, Sir, that you 're a bankrupt.-Quasi bancus ruptus-banque route faire.-And my instructions say further, that you are summoned to appear before the commissioners to-morrow.

Quid. That may be, sir; but I can't go to-morrɔw; and so I shall send them word. I am to be to-morrow at Slaugh

* A crazed newspaper politician and a bankrupt. † A pedantic lawyer.

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