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it a ready reception. It needs no meretricious finery-no daubing with rouge-to give it grace and beauty. But that truth is rendered more attractive when united with eloquence, all the experience of the past has taught us. Truth will come forth in some dress or other, and if not clothed with the graces of speech, it is very apt to appear in the other extreme of roughness and uncouthness. Eloquence, we maintain, is the natural garb of truth. When thus arrayed, it becomes doubly attractive. If we despise and cast it aside, we rob truth of half its charms. We shall then too often find, that unsightly and loathsome error, creeping into the garb we have spurned away, will rather find favor in the eyes of men, and draw them over to its standard. What if truth is powerful ? The rough and shapeless block of marble is strong, just hewn from the quarry ; but who would use it in that state to decorate the front of an edifice? The chisel must first do its work ; and it rises a chaste, beautiful, and symmetrical column.
The importance of eloquence is too little felt by professional men. Though the pulpit and the bar are considered its peculiar field, not one man in twenty who engage in professional life, can be called truly elo
There is enough, in both professions, to make almost any one eloquent, who possesses ordinary powers. At the bar, men are thrown upon the arena of strife; they are brought into collision with each other; their energies are roused, their sleeping faculties awakened, and the whole man summoned up to the conflict. The weapons of argument—the keen retort and cutting sarcasm-are sharpened to a tenfold degree. This struggle for the mastery of an opponent—this grapple of mind with mind, develops powers in a wonderful manner. Bright sparks of genius and eloquence are struck out by the collision. The nature of the preacher's subject, the great interests which he sets forth, are enough to make every one who feels them eloquent. It is essential to his success. Why was Whitefield so successful a preacher? It was that burning eloquence of his, those lips, touched by a “live coal” from Heaven's altar, that made him the man he was. Other preachers may have had as deep and sincere piety, who have produced little effect. Take one other instance. Massillon, the great French preacher, was one of those who had broken loose from the ordinary irammels of pulpit speaking. He always made preparation, but never read written sermons. We are told that his thoughts seemed to occur on the instant, and kindle into language. Such was the effect he produced, that one describing it thus remarks: "The theatre was forsaken while the church was crowded; the court forgot their amusements to attend the preacher; and his spirit-controlling accents drew the monarch from his throne to his feet, stopped the impetuous stream of dissipation, and compelled the mocking world to listen.” It is sometimes said, that the pulpit is not the proper place for eloquence—that the great interests of religion are little aided by the excitement of men's passions. The eloquence of the pulpit, we know, is often abused. We wish not to see one kind of eloquence there, which is sometimes exhibited. We wish to see no foppish, affected graces there. Aye, we have seen men in the sacred desk, “playing such fantastic tricks before high heaven, as would make angels weep." Let sacred eloquence be appropriate to the important truths with which it deals ; otherwise, it cannot accomplish the object which it should ever have in view.
A TRIP TO THE SHOALS.
New HAMPSHIRE, every body knows, is the Switzerland of America : but that, with only eighteen miles of sea-coast, she possesses one of the finest harbors in the world, and a shore unsurpassed in wildness and beauty, is not, perhaps, so notorious. Forsaking, then, the beaten paths, that wind among her mountain scenes, let us stroll together by her sea-side and launch upon the adjacent waters. Peradventure we may glean some stray shells, to lay on the shelf of memory—something to please and amuse us.
Come with me, then, to the staid old town of Hampton. Its oldfashioned people, superannuated geese and antiquated, square-pewed meeting-house, with pulpit and sounding-board like a wine-glass under a saucer,—these and many other fingers, pointing to the past, will tickle such of you as are haters of innovations; meanwhile the lovers of improvement may find consolation in the painted fence, and new raised side-walk, that bound the park-like street. And yet, the paint is to preserve the same old railing; the side-walk, a concession extorted by thin-shod visitors. The good towns-people still walk, as their fathers did, in cow-paths and cart-tracks, brushing, with well-greased cow-hide, the morning dew from the gossamer spider's web. In their view, a side-walk is neither beautiful nor useful; bnt, what is worse than all, it is a sad encroachment on the common geese-pasture.
In this old-fashioned neighborbood I would leave all sticklers for the good old ways. Once settled down in the country inn, they need fear no innovation to stir the dust of antiquity about their ears, for many a year to come. But the rest, who believe in the advancement of society, and wish to enjoy it, improved by a century of progress, will come with me to the other end of the town. Ten minutes ride through the shaded street, round the corner and over the marsh, has brought us into a new world,—to a fashionable watering place. On and around a projecting head-land, very appropriately ycleped“ Great Boar's Head," are clustered three or four " Hotels." Bowling Alleys, Baths, Swings, Horse sheds and all the appurtenances of such comfortable establishments, are grouped around in beautiful disorder. Arrived at the apex of the Head, we enter the King of Hotels, and look about for comfort. It must be found in apartments, spacious, airy and almost unfurnished, save with living chattels, noisy children, mothers, maids and nurses. The Register lies open on the stand, and the officious landlord tenders us the pen. Here are names of all degrees in length and title, and in the margin, under “Remarks," all sorts of Sayings, Epigrams, and Sentiments. "An Elegy on the Death of a Goose,” penned by some
fair hand, we must read. It is valuable, as throwing light on the manners and customs of the natives. If there is any thing remarkable about them, it is their love and respect for geese. They keep their streets full of them, and always give them the road, in passing. The “ Elegy” seems to intimate that strangers are not always so accommodating.
“ The mournful fate of this poor Goose
Good people all lament;
The way a parson went.
Pray, take this warning kind;
Be sure to go behind. While we have been pondering the fearful tragedy, which cut off this unoffending biped in the midst of his days, and occasioned this affecting tribute to his memory, movements have been going on about us, betokening something of unusual interest. 'Troops of gaily dressed and smiling maidens,-attending swains in ecstacy, - are issuing from the idle hives. “We are going to the Shoals, sir; won't you go with us?” She is a pretty school-girl, and, for a wonder, has no brother, cousin, none to stand her cavalier. I have nothing else to do—I shall do nothing else. When I come back, you shall have the story of the trip.
At anchor, off the snout of Great Boar's Head, that sunny August morning, you might plainly see a little flat-bottomed sloop, looking, for all the world, like a swill-tub for the aforesaid snout. Whatever may have been her original design, she had now a responsible office to perform. Her deck had been newly scoured, and all traces of her former occupation (if such as we conjectured) had been carefully removed. She was fast receiving her living cargo, from the fishing-boats that formed her communication with the shore.
Reader, wert thou ever on the rolling deep? didst ever know the bliss of feeling as though you wanted to, when you couldn't ; and then have the satisfaction of doing it, when you'd rather not ? then canst thou imagine much, that cannot be described. The short passage, in the rollicking little boat, has done wonders. Faces long and white, give outward form to qualms and twinges, more deeply seated. Scarce one can set foot firmly on the deck ; for, in each mind's eye, there is something to step over, and disappointment, grievous to bear up under, follows every lofty step. Disappointed thus, at the very outset, many would return ; but our boatmen, like Charon, carry freight only one way.
What a prospect for a pleasure excursion! All sick of their fun before setting out.
But as none returned to tell the tale, the unsuspecting victims continued to press on, until there was no longer rooin to receive them. More than three score of human beings were thus huddled together in this little coaster, ere all hands were mustered to get under weigh. With a vast deal of heaving and tugging, on the part of all hands, VOL. XI.
(three men and a boy, including skipper and cook,) the anchor came to the head, the clumsy boom swung round, and our tub began to move through the water.
Man is, more or less, the creature of circumstances. While our vessel lay, sluggishly rolling with every wave, leaning lazily on her anchor, we were listless, too; the general apathy was broken in upon, only when some luckless wight, more desperate than the rest, would charge for the rail, to amuse himself with, what Major Jones calls,
cascading it into the sea." But, now, all is motion, in the right way. The little coaster skips merrily on, close-hauled and every thing drawing. Adieu, to the prosy land. She is bounding into the very region of poetry, alive with happy hearts, all impatient for the ocean's romance. The cooling breeze draws its keen edge across our faces; our breath springs out to meet it; our hearts bound; our tongues are loosed; we are full of life and happiness.
I say we. Perhaps you would like to know a little more about us. The gentleman in rusty black is an enthusiast; no wild, erratic genius, either; but a sober, reasonable enthusiast. He is going to the Shoals not for pleasure; he pursues nothing so undefined and fleeting. He seeks the good of his fellow-men. We are to leave him on the Islands, with his store of Tracts and Bibles and instruction, for the poor neglected fishermen. He says he will stay and preach to them, a while, and then go where he can do more good. In this way, they tell us, he spends his time and substance, going about doing good. Surely he is an enthusiast. His companion, pro tem., is quite another sort of a person. There is a general look of benevolence about them both ; but, farther than this, they do not resemble each other.' The missionary has energy in his face and frame ; his companion is rather a man of weight." He considers this a tolerable sort of a world to live in, if one has mind to take it easy. You would know him for a country parson. He is here, because there is no particular need of him elsewhere ; and, incidentally, he is having a good time, and taking care of a small detachment of his flock. Of course, he is provided with an umbrella, a couple of lemons, and a powerful smelling-bottle. So much for our clergy. I am very happy to be able to present them to you; for, it is always well, on such excursions, to have two or three professedly good men along; they are indispensible in cases of emergency. They are not, therefore, out of place, at all. The larger portion of our party holds the profession in special estimation. Most of us are taking measures, calculated to put their services in requisition. Indeed, you will rarely find an unmarried lady, arrived at the age of discretion, who does not entertain the profoundest reverence for the minister. Wife-seekers, too, generally evince for him a transitory respect. That our party consists mainly of such, 'marriageable ladies with their counter-parts of the other sex, is plain to be seen. The prevailing air of affectation shows it. Unable to reach the chief end of their being in the way nature marked out for them, they are determined to strike out a new path, that will lead them straight to matrimony. See that portly farmer's daughter, trying to languish down to
the taste of the exquisite little specimen of citydom, in her shadow ! And mark, how gallantly he sports the little affectation of a moustache ; with what a pompous air he peeps over his standing collar ; how firmly he holds the deck in its place, with his inflexible cane! “My dear, I am apprehensive that this air will prove too much for you ; allow me to assist you to the cabin." Let them pass. They will make a match of it, if mutual accommodation can effect any thing.
There is more naturalness about yonder group of youngsters. "The squeamishness of some has put the rest in the way of a little rational amusement. Such glowing encomiums on pandowdy and pumpkinpie! Such affectionate mention of clam-chowder, roast-veal and baked-beans ! no wonder the gathering is rapidly dispersed.
Making observations such as these, I have wasted a full-grown hour, and wearied the patience of an invalid friend below. But I cannot go down, just now; that side view is enough to make a man forget a score of friends. She is leaning gracefully over the rail, apparently absorbed in gloomy revery,
the billows as they sink beneath the advancing prow. She is very beautiful, and she is all alone. The spray of the surging wave floats high, to kiss her velvet cheek; the wanton breezes play among her loosened tresses, and battle with the envious little hat, ihat would hide her classic head; yet there is no watchful friend or lover by, to see to it that the winds and waves do not visit her too roughly. The young and fair are not often thus forsaken ; the veriest stranger would presume to console such loveliness, so sad and lonely. I was always a bashful youth ; but now, inspired with unwonted courage, I resolved to warn this frail creature of her danger, though I might not hope to alleviate her sorrow. “I fear, my friend, that you are exposing yourself too far; this damp wind may give you a cold.” She turned her pensive face, with a startled look, as though surprised at my abruptness; then, resuming her own queenly dignity, she replied : “I don't care ; I'd as lief die one way as t'other; marm is so plaguy cross, there's no living with her; she-" I did not hear any more, for I thought it my duty to go immediately to my friend in the cabin.
When I ventured to appear again on deck, how changed, and how beautiful the panorama around us! we were in the very midst of the islands—seven huge granite rocks emergent from the ocean plain. On our left, (speaking after the manner of landsmen,) loomed the beacon of these dangerous shoals. Isolated on its foundation rock, it is girt about with breakers, and wholly unapproachable in stormy weather. They tell a horrid tale of the starvation of an ill-starred keeper there.
The lonely light-house passed, on our other hand we were gladdened with the sight of an island's population, come down in a body, to greet us as we glided by. There they stood, full three and twenty souls ; and such cheering! such waving and fluttering of light-colored drapery!—I cannot say white kandkerchiefs ; form and size forbid ; but the articles they used answered the purpose quite as well.
We stood steadily on toward Star-Island, with its village and meeting-house in view. From every cove and cranny in the rocks, was