674. Loss OF NATIONAL CHARACTER. The loss of a firm, national character, or the degradation of a nation's honor, is the inevitable prelude to her destruction. Behold the once proud fabric of the Roman empire; an empire, carrying its arts, and arms, into every part of the eastern continent; the monarchs of mighty kingdoms, dragged at the wheels of her triumphal chariots; her eagle, waving over the ruins of desolated countries. Where is her splendor, her wealth, her power, her glory? Extinguished-forever. Her moldering temples, the mournful vestiges of her former grandeur, afford a shelter to her muttering monks. Where are her statesmen, her sages, her philosophers, her orators, her generals? Go to their solitary tombs, and inquire. She lost her national character, and her destruction followed. The ramparts of her national pride were broken down, and Vandalism desolated her classic fields. Citizens will lose their respect and confidence, in our government, if it does not extend over them, the shield of an honorable, national character. Corruption will creep in, | and sharpen party animosity. Ambitious leaders will seize upon the favorable moment. The mad enthusiasm for revolution-will call into action the irritated spirit of our nation, and civil war must follow. The swords of our countrymen may yet glitter on our mountains, their blood may yet crimson our plains. 675. GOOD-NIGHT. To whom, I feel, or hate, or spite, Athens, during a public representation of RESPECT TO OLD AGE. It happened at Such, the warning voice of all antiquity, the wealth, that an old gentleman came too late, some play, exhibited in honor of the commonexample of all republics proclaim-may be for a place suitable to his age, and quality. our fate. But let us no longer indulge these Many of the young gentlemen, who observed gloomy anticipations. The commencement the difficulty and confusion he was in, made of our liberty presages the dawn of a brighter signs to him, that they would accommodate period to the world. That bold, enterprising him, if he came where they sat. The good spirit, which conducted our heroes to peace; man bustled through the crowd accordingly; and safety, and gave us a lofty rank, amid but when he came to the seat, to which he the empires of the world, still animates the bosoms of their descendants. Look back to was invited, the jest was, to sit close, and exthe moment, when they unbarred the dun-pose him, as he stood out of countenance, to geons of the slave, and dashed his fetters all the Athenian benches. But, on those octhe whole audience. The frolic went round to the earth, when the sword of a Washing-casions, there were also particular places reton leaped from its scabbard, to revenge the served for foreigners. When the good man slaughter of our countrymen. Place their skulked towards the boxes, appointed for the example before you. Let the sparks of Lacedemonians, that honest people, more virtheir veteran wisdom flash across your minds, and the sacred altars of your liber- with the greatest respect, received him among tuous than polite, rose up all to a man, and ty, crowned with immortal honors, rise be- them. The Athenians, being suddenly touchfore you. Relying on the virtue, the cour-ed with a sense of the Spartan virtue, and age, the patriotism, and the strength of our their own degeneracy, gave a thunder of apcountry, we may expect our national charac-plause; and the old man cried out, "the Atheter will become more energetic, our citizens nians understand what is good, but the Lacemore enlightened, and may hail the age as demonians practice it. not far distant, when will be heard, as the proudest exclamation of man: I am an American.-Maxcy. [flood? The bell strikes one: We take no note of time, FORTUNE-TELLER. A hungry, lean-fac'd villain, A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune teller; RECREATION. Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue, 676. THE GROVES GOD'S FIRST TEMPLES. The groves were God's first temples. Ere man To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, [learned And spread the roof above them,--ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather, and roll back, The sound of anthems,-in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered, to the Mightiest, solemn thanks, And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences, That, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks, that, high in heav'n, Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath, that swayed, at once, All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit-with the thought of boundless Power, And inaccessible Majesty. Ah! why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore, Only, among the crowd, and under roofs, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, My heart-is awed within me, when I think Lo! all grow old, and die: but see, again, The freshness of her far beginning lies, That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least, Of his arch enemy-Death; yea, seats himself Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn; thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in his ear. Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns; thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot towards heav'n. The century-living crow, Whose birth was in their tops, grew old, and died, Among their branches; till, at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and darkFit shrine-for humble worshiper to hold Communion with his Maker. Here are seen, No traces of man's pomp, or pride; no silks Rustle, no jewels shine, nor envious eyes Encounter; no fantastic carvings-show The boast of our vain race-to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here; thou fill'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds, That run along the summits of these trees, In music; thou art in the cooler breath, That, from the inmost darkness of the place, Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here, is continual worship; nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades, Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace, Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oakBy whose immovable stem I stand, and seem Almost annihilated-not a prince, In all the proud old world, beyond the deep, F'er wore his crown-as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves, with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest-flower, With scented breath, and look, so like a smile, Upon the sepulchre, and blooms, and smiles, There have heen holy men, who hid themselves O God! when thou The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods, Naturally, men are prone to spin themselves a web of opinions out of their own brain, and to have a religion that may be called their own. Men are far readier to make themselves a faith, than to receive that which God hath formed to their hands, and they are far readier to receive a doctrine that tends to their carnal commodity, or honor, or delights, than one that tends to self-denial. Like dogs in a wheel, birds in a cage, or squir rels in a chain, ambitious men still elimb and climb, with great labor, and incessant anxiety, but never reach the top. 677. PHYSICAL EDUCATION. That is, undoubtedly, the wisest, and best regimen, which takes the infant from the cradle, and conducts him along, through childhood, and youth, up to high maturity, in such a manner, as to give strength to his arm, swiftness to his feet, solidity and amplitude to his muscles, symmetry to his frame, and expansion to his vital energies. It is obvious, that this branch of education comprehends, not only food and clothing, but air, exercise, lodging, early rising, and whatever else is requisite, to the full development of the physical constitution. The diet must be simple, the apparel must not be too warm, nor the bed too soft. Tossed his beamed fontlet-to the sky; Tis not enough-the voice be sound, and clear, Let parents beware of too much restriction When desperate heroes grieve, with tedious moan, in the management of their darling boy. Let And whine their sorrows, in a see-saw tone, him, in choosing his play, follow the sugges-The same soft sounds-of unimpassioned woes, tions of nature. Let them not be discompos- Can only make the yawning hearers--doze. ed at the sight of his sand-hills in the road, The voice-all modes of passion can express, his snow-forts in February, and his mud-dams That marks the proper word, with proper stress: in April; nor when they chance to look out But none emphatic--can that speaker call, in the midst of an August shower, and see him wading and sailing, and sporting along Who lays an equal emphasis-on all. with the water-fowl. If they would make Some, o'er the tongue-the labored measures roll, him hardy and fearless, they must let him go Slow, and deliberate--as the parting toll; abroad as often as he pleases, in his early Point every stop, mark every pause so strong, boyhood, and amuse himself by the hour to- Their words, like stage processions, stalk along, gether, in smoothing and twirling the hoary locks of winter. Instead of keeping him All affectation-but creates disgust; shut up all day with a stove, and graduating And e'en in speaking, we may seem too just. his sleeping-room by Fahrenheit, they must In vain, for them, the pleasing measure flows, let him face the keen edge of a north-wind, Whose recitation-runs it all to prose; when the mercury is below cipher; and, in- Repeating-what the poet sets not down, stead of minding a little shivering, and com- The verse disjointing-from its favorite noun, plaining, when he returns, cheer up his spir- While pause, and break, and repetition join its, and send him out again. In this way, they will teach him, that he was not born to To make a discord-in each tuneful line. live in the nursery, nor to brood over the fire; Some placid natures-fill the allotted scene but to range abroad, as free as the snow, the air, and to gain warmth from exercise. and With lifeless drawls, insipid and serene; I love, and admire the youth, who turns While others-thunder every couplet o'er, not back from the howling wintry blast, nor And almost crack your ears-with rant, and roar. withers under the blaze of summer; who More nature, oft, and finer strokes are shown, never magnifies "mole-hills into mountains;" In the low whisper, than tempestuous tone; but whose daring eye, exulting, scales the ca- And Hamlet's hollow voice, and fixed amaze, gle's airy crag, and who is ready to under- More powerful terror-to the mind conveys, take anything, that is prudent, and lawful, Than he, who, swollen with impetuous rage, within the range of possibility. Who would Bullies the bulky phantom of the stage. think of planting the mountain-oak-in a green-house? or of rearing the cedar of Leb- He, who, in earnest, studies o'er his part, anon-in a lady's flower-pot? Who does Will find true nature-cling about his heart. not know that, in order to attain their mighty The modes of grief--are not included allstrength, and majestic forms, they must free- In the white handkerchief, and mournful drawl; ly enjoy the rain, and the sunshine, and must A single look-more marks the internal woe, feel the rocking of the tempest? Than all the windings of the lengthened-Oh! Up to the face-the quick sensation flies, And darts its meaning-from the speaking eyes: Love, transport, madness, anger, scorn, despair, And all the passions, all the soul is there. THE CHASE. The stag, at eve, had drunk his fill, NATURE'S WANTS ARE FEW. 680. THE FIRE-SIDE. Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd, Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside, Where love-our hours employs; Tho' fools--spurn Hymen's gentle pow'rs, We, who improve his golden hours, Our babes, shall richest comfort bring; And train them for the skies. And crown our hoary hairs: And recompense our cares. No borrow'd joys! they're all our own, And bless our humbler lot. For nature's calls are few: In this, the art of living lies, And make that little do. We'll therefore relish, with content, Nor aim beyond our pow'r; Nor lose the present hour. And pleas'd, with favors giv'n: Whose fragrance-smells to heav'n. Thus, hand in hand, thro' life we'll go; With cautious steps, we'll tread; And smooth the hed of death.-Cotton. Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendor crown'd; Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round: 681. THE NATURE OF ELOQUENCE. When public bodies are to be addressed, on momentous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable in speech, farther than it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshaled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it, but cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory, contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked, and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is eloquent; then, selfdevotion is eloquent. The clear conception, out-running the deductions of logic, the high purpose, of firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object,-this-is eloquence.-Webster. 682. THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE. I said to Sorrow's awful storm, But still-the spirit that now brooks With steadfast eye." I said to Penury's meagre train, I said-to cold Neglect, and Scorn, Ye may pursue me, till my form, And being-are forgot; Yet, still the spirit, which you see Its high-born smiles." I said--to Friendship's menaced blow, This last severe distress, Shall smile-upon its keenest pains, I said to Death's uplifted dart, A weak, reluctant prey; Shall, smiling, pass away," 683. PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA. 'Mid the light spray, their snorting camels stood, Nor bath'd a fetlock, in the nauseous flood: He comes-their leader comes! the man of God, O'er the wide waters, lifts his mighty rod, With limbs, that falter, and with hearts, that swell, On the long mirror-of the rosy wave: storm; With withering splendor, blasted all their might, And brake their chariot-wheels, and marred their coursers' flight. "Fly, Misraim, fly!" The ravenous floods they see, CONCEALED LOVE. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, |