us. CXIX.-ELOQUENCE. HENRY B. STANTON. In every enlightened age, eloquence has been a controlling element in human affairs. Eloquence is not a gift, but an art—not an inspiration, but an acquisition—not an intuition, but an attainment. Excellence in this art is attained only by unwearied practice, and the careful study of the best models. The models lie all around us. The rest is within Demosthenes and Cicero will be household words, in all climes, to the end of time. But, the more one studies the masters of Grecian and Roman eloquence, the more readily will he yield to the growing opinion that England, France, and America, during the last sixty or seventy years, have produced a greater number of eloquent orators than flourished in all Grecian and Roman history. As objects increase in size when seen through a mist, so men tower into giants when seen through the haze of antiquity. Without neglecting the ancient models, let us study those of our own times. From both we may catch some of that inspiration which bound the audience to the orator, and bade him play upon their emotions as the master touches the keys of his familiar instrument-which subdued them to tears or convulsed them with laughter-which bore them aloft on the wing of imagination, or blanched them with horror while narration threw the colors upon the canvass which held the judgment and the fancy captive, as reason forged the chain of argument, and poetry studded its links with the gems of illustration— which poured over the subject a flood of rare knowledge, laden with the contributions of all sciences and all ageswhich gambolled in playful humor, or opened the sparkling jet d'eau of wit, or barbed the point of epigram, or sketched the laughing caricature, gliding from grave to gay, from lively to severe, with majesty and grace;-that inspiration which, as Paul reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and the judgment, made Felix tremble; as Demosthenes anathematized Macedonia, made the Greeks cry out, "Lead us against Philip;" at the thrilling tones of Henry, made America ring with the shout, "Give us liberty, or give us death;" when the thunder of Danton shook the dome of the Convention, roused all Paris to demand the head of Louis; and lashed into fury or hushed into repose acres of wild peasantry, as the voice of O'Connell rose or fell. DEATH OF WASHINGTON. 165 CXX.-DEATH OF WASHINGTON. JOHN M. MASON. Ir must ever be difficult to compare the merits of Washington's characters, because he always appeared greatest in that which he last sustained. Yet if there is a preference, it must be assigned to the lieutenant-general of the armies of America. Not because the duties of that station were more arduous than those which he had often performed, but because it more fully displayed his magnanimity. While others become great by elevation, Washington becomes greater by condescension. Matchless patriot! to stoop, on public motives, to an inferior appointment, after possessing and dignifying the highest offices! Thrice favored country, which boasts of such a citizen! We gaze with astonishment: we exult that we are Americans. We augur everything great, and good, and happy. But whence this sudden horror? What means that cry of agony? Oh! 'tis the shriek of America! The fairy vision is fled: Washington is-no more! "How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished!" Daughters of America, who erst prepared the festal bower and the laurel wreath, plant now the cypress grove, and water it with tears. "How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished!" The death of Washington, Americans, has revealed the extent of our loss. It has given us the final proof that we never mistook him. Take his affecting testament, and read the secrets of his soul. Read all the power of domestic virRead his strong love of letters and of liberty. Read his fidelity to republican principle, and his jealousy of national character tue. Let In his acts, Americans, you have seen the man. In the complicated excellence of character, he stands alone. no future Plutarch attempt the iniquity of parallel. Let no soldier of fortune, let no usurping conqueror, let not Alexander or Cæsar, let not Cromwell or Bonaparte, let none among the dead or the living, appear in the same picture with Washington or let them appear as the shade to his light. CXXI-ADDRESS TO SOUTH CAROLINA. ANDREW JACKSON. I HAVE urged you to look back to the means that were used to hurry you on to the position you have now assumed, and forward to the consequences it will produce. Something more is necessary. Contemplate the condition of that country of which you still form an important part. Consider its government, uniting in one bond of common interest and general protection so many different States; giving to all their inhabitants the proud title of American Citizens, protecting their commerce, securing their literature and their arts, facilitating their inter-communication, defending their frontiers, and making their name respected in the remotest part of the earth! Consider the extent of its territory, its increasing and happy population, its advance in arts which render life agreeable, and the sciences which elevate the mind! See education spreading the lights of religion, humanity, and general information into every cottage in this wide extent of our Territories and States! Behold it as the asylum where the wretched and the oppressed find a refuge and a support! Look at this picture of happiness and honor, and say-we, too, are citizens of America. Carolina is one of these proud States: her arms have defended, her best blood has cemented this happy Union! And then add, if you can, without horror and remorse-this happy Union we will dissolve this picture of peace and prosperity we will deface-this free intercourse we will interrupt-these fertile fields we will deluge with blood-the protection of that glorious flag we will renounce-the very names of Americans we discard. And for what, mistaken men!-for what do you throw away these inestimable blessings, for what would y u exchange your share in the advantages and honor of the Union? For the dream of a separate independence-a dream interrupted with bloody conflicts with your neighbors, and a vile dependence on a foreign power? If your leaders could succeed in establishing a separation, what would be your situation? Are you united at home-are you free from the apprehension of civil discord, with all its fearful consequences? Do our neighboring republics, every day suffering some new revolution, or contending with some new insurrection-do they excite your envy? But the dictates of a high duty oblige me solemnly to announce that you cannot succeed. AMERICAN HISTORY. 167 CXXII-AMERICAN HISTORY. GULIAN C. VERPLANCK. THE study of the history of most other nations, fills the mind with sentiments not unlike those which the American traveller feels on entering the venerable and lofty cathedral of some proud old city of Europe. Its solemn grandeur, its vastness, its obscurity, strike awe to his heart. From the richly painted windows, filled with sacred emblems and strange antique forms, a dim religious light falls around. A thousand recollections of romance and poetry, and legendary story, come thronging in upon him. He is surrounded by the tombs of the mighty dead, rich with the labors of ancient art, and emblazoned with the pomp of heraldry. ever the What names does he read upon them? Those of princes and nobles who are now remembered only for their vices; and of sovereigns, at whose graves no tears were shed, and whose memories lived not an hour in the affections of their people. There, too, he sees other names, long familiar to him for their guilty and ambiguous fame. There rest, the bloodstained soldier of fortune-the orator, who was ready apologist of tyranny-great scholars, who were the pensioned flatterers of power-and poets, who profaned the high gift of genius, to pamper the vices of a corrupted court. Our own history, on the contrary, like that poetical temple of fame, reared by the imagination of Chaucer, and decorated by the taste of Pope, is almost exclusively dedicated to the memory of the truly great. Or rather, like the Pantheon of Rome, it stands in calm and severe beauty amid the ruins of ancient magnificence and "the toys of modern state." in, no idle ornament encumbers its bold simplicity. The pure light of heaven enters from above and sheds an equal and serene radiance around. As the eye wanders about its extent, it beholds the unadorned monuments of brave and good men who have greatly bled or toiled for their country, or it rests on votive tablets inscribed with the names of the best benefactors of mankind. With CXXIII-CONTEST OF THE PEOPLE FOR FREEDOM. EDWARD EVERETT. 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 freshness 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 the 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 pledges to the life of others. But 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 be imposed, by foreign arms, on an ignorant and slavish race, that care not in what language the covenant of their subjugation runs, nor in whose name the deed of their barter and sale is made out. But the people never invade; and, when they rise against the invader, 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 beneath 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; and never gave, and never will give, a final triumph over a virtuous and gallant people, resolved to be free. |