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EXERCISE LV.-HEROISM OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS OF NEW ENGLAND.-Choate.

[See introductory remarks to EXERCISE XX.]

If one were called on to select the most glittering of the instances of military heroism to which the admiration of the world has been most constantly attracted, he would make choice, I imagine, of the instance of that desperate valour, in which, in obedience to the laws, Leonidas and his three hundred Spartans cast themselves headlong, at the passes of Greece, on the myriads of their Persian invaders. From the simple page of Herodotus, longer than from the Amphyctionic monument, or the games of the commemoration, that act speaks still to the tears and praise of all the world.

Yet I agree with a late brilliant writer, in his speculation on the probable feelings of that devoted band, left alone, awaiting, till day should break, the approach of a certain death, in that solitary defile. Their enthusiasm and their rigid and Spartan spirit, which had made all ties subservient to obedience to the law, all excitement tame to that of battle, all pleasure dull to the anticipation of glory, probably made the hours preceding death the most enviable of their lives. They might have exulted in the same enviable fanaticism, which distinguished afterwards the followers of Mohammed, and seen that opening Paradise in immortality below, which the Mussulman beheld in anticipation above! Judge if it were not so; judge, if a more decorated and conspicuous stage was ever erected for the transaction of a deed of fame. Every eye in Greece, every eye throughout the world of civilization, throughout even the uncivilized and barbaric East, was felt to be turned directly on the playing of that brief part. There passed round that narrow circle in the tent, the stern, warning image of Sparta, pointing to their shields, and saying With these to-morrow, or upon them.'

Consider, too, that the one concentrated and comprehensive sentiment, graved on their souls as by fire and by steel, by all the influences of their whole life, by the mothers' lips, by the fathers' example, by the law, by venerated religious rites, by public opinion strong enough to change the moral qualities of things, by the whole fashion and nature of Spartan culture, was this: Seek first, seek last, seek always, the glory of conquering or falling in a well fought field.'

Judge, if, that night, as they watched the dawn of the last morning their eyes could ever see; as they heard with every

passing hour the stilly hum of the invading host, his dusky lines stretched out without end, and now almost encircling them around; as they remembered their unprofaned home, city of heroes and of the mothers of heroes,-judge if watching there, in the gate-way of Greece, this sentiment did not grow to the nature of madness, if it did not run in torrents of literal fire to and from the labouring heart; and when morning came and passed, and they had dressed their long locks for battle, and when, at a little after noon, the countless invading throng was seen at last to move, was it not with a rapture, as if all the joy, all the sensation of life, was in that one moment that they cast themselves, with the fierce gladness of mountain-torrents, headlong on that brief revelry of glory?

I acknowledge the splendour of that transaction in all its aspects. I admit its morality, too, and its useful influence on every Grecian heart, in that greatest crisis of Greece.

And yet, do you not think, that whoso could, by adequate description, bring before you that winter of the Pilgrims, its brief sunshine, the nights of storm, slow waning; the damp and icy breath, felt to the pillow of the dying; its destitutions, its contrasts with all their former experience in life; its utter insulation and loneliness; its death-beds and burials; its memories; its apprehensions; its hopes; the consultations of the prudent; the prayers of the pious; the occasional cheerful hymn, in which the strong heart threw off its burthen, and, asserting its unvanquished nature, went up, like a bird of dawn, to the skies;-do ye not think that whoso could describe them calmly waiting in that defile, lonelier and darker than Thermopyla, for a morning that might never dawn, or might show them, when it did, a mightier arm than the Persian, raised as in act to strike, would he not sketch a scene of more difficult and rarer heroism? A scene, as Wordsworth has said, 'melancholy, yea, dismal, yet consolatory and full of joy;' a scene, even better fitted, to succour, to exalt, to lead, the forlorn hopes of all great causes, till time shall be no more!

I have said that I deemed it a great thing for a nation, in all the periods of its fortunes, to be able to look back to a race of founders, and a principle of institution, in which it might rationally admire the realized idea of true heroism. That felicity, that pride, that help, is ours. Our past, with its great eras, that of settlement, and that of independence, should announce, should compel, should spontaneously evolve as from a germ, a wise, moral, and glowing future. Those

heroic men and women should not look down on a dwindled posterity. That broad foundation, sunk below frost or earthquake, should bear up something more permanent than an encampment of tents, pitched at random, and struck when the trumpet of march sounds at next daybreak. It should bear up, as by a natural growth, a structure in which generations may come, one after another, to the great gift of the Social Life.

EXERCISE LVI.-ADDRESS TO THE SWEDES.-Gustavus Vasa.

[Declamation, in the form of blank verse,—as in the following instance, acquires all the additional advantage of sonorous rhythm, and expansive energy of tone. The object in view, in practice, should be to give the utterance full scope, but to avoid mouthing and rant. The attitude and action are, here, of the boldest character.]

Ye men of Sweden, wherefore are ye come?
See ye not yonder, how the locusts swarm,
To drink the fountains of your honour up,
And leave your hills a desert? Wretched men!
Why came ye forth? Is this a time for sport?
Or are ye met with song and jovial feast,

To welcome your new guests, your Danish visitants?
To stretch your supple necks beneath their feet,
And fawning lick the dust?-Go, go, my countrymen,
Each to your several mansions, trim them out,
Cull all the tedious earnings of your toil,
To purchase bondage.-O, Swedes! Swedes!
Heavens are ye men, and will ye suffer this ?-
There was a time, my friends, a glorious time!
When, had a single man of your forefathers
Upon the frontier met a host in arms,

His courage scarce had turned, himself had stood,
Alone had stood, the bulwark of his country.
Come, come ye on then!-Here I take my stand!
Here on the brink, the very verge of liberty;
Although contention rise upon the clouds,

Mix heaven with earth, and roll the ruin onward,
Here will I fix, and breast me to the shock,
Till I or Denmark fall.

Approach my fellow-soldiers, your Gustavus
Claims no precedence here.

Haste, brave men!

Collect your friends, to join us on the instant;

Summon our brethren to their share of conquest ;-
And let loud echo, from her circling hills,

Sound Freedom! till the undulation shake
The bounds of utmost Sweden.

EXERCISE LVII.—THE POINT OF HONOUR.-Shakspeare. Scene from As you like it.'-Speakers,-the Duke (attendca,, Jaques, and Touchstone.-Scene,-the Forest.

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[The remarks introductory to former examples of humorous dialogue, apply here,-particularly to the part of Touchstone.]

Touch. [Entering, to the Duke, &c.] Salutation and greeting to you all!

Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the mot ley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been politic, have undone three tailors; I had four quarrels, and like to have fought one.

Jaq. And how was that ta'en up?

Touch. 'Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause.

Jaq. How seventh cause?-Good my lord, like this fellow.

Duke. I like him very well.

I

Touch. God 'ild you, sir: I desire you of the like. press in here, sir, among the rest, to swear and to forswear, with a poor damsel, sir, an ill-favoured one,—a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that no man else will. But rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house,-as your pearl in a foul oyster.

Duke. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. Jaq. But, for the seventh cause:--how did you find the quarrel upon the seventh cause?

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed :-as thus, sir, I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard: he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was:-this is called the Retort courteous. If I sent him word again, it was not well cut, he would send me word, he cut it to please himself:-this is called the Quip modest. If again, it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment: this is called the Reply churlish. If again, it was not well cut, he would answer, I spake not true:--this is

called the Reproof valiant. If again, it was not well cut, he would say, I lie :-this is called the Countercheck quarrelsome; and so to the Lie circumstantial, and the Lie direct.

Jaq. And how oft did you say his beard was not well

cut?

Touch. I durst go no farther than the Lie circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie direct; and so we measured swords, and parted.

Jaq. Can you nominate, in order, now, the degrees of the lie?

Touch. Oh! sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have books for good manners. I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort courteous; the second, the Quip modest; the third, the Reply churlish; the fourth, the Reproof valiant; the fifth, the Countercheck quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with circumstance; the seventh, the Lie direct. All these you may avoid, but the Lie direct; and you may avoid that, too, with an If.-I knew when seven justices could not make up a quarrel; but when the parties were met, themselves, one of them thought but of an If,-as 'If you said so, then I said so;' and they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your If is the only peacemaker: much virtue in an Iƒ.

Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at anything, and yet a fool.

Duke. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse; and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.

EXERCISE LVIII.-THE LIBERTY OF AMERICANS IN THEIR OWN
KEEPING.-.
-Hillard.

[The remarks introductory to other examples of noble and grave declamation, are all applicable to the following beautiful passage.]

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 shamefully betray the trust reposed in us, we may most miserably defeat the fond hopes entertained of us. We may become the scorn of tyrants and the jest of slaves. From our fate, oppression may assume a bolder front of insolence, 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

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