Whatever may be the solution, the fact, I think, is certainly as I have stated it. And it is remarkable that the same effect is produ ced, though perhaps in a less degree, by perusing books into which different degrees of spirit and genius have been infused. I am acquainted with a gentleman who never sits down to a composition, wherein he wishes to shine, without previously reading, with intense application, half a dozen pages of his favourite Bolingbroke. Having taken the character and impulse of that writer's mind, he declares that he feels his pen to flow with a spirit not his own; and that, if, in the course of his work, his powers begin to languish, he finds it easy to revive and charge them afresh from the same never failing source.

If these things be not visionary, it becomes important to a man, for a new reason, what books he reads, and what company he keeps, since, according to lord Verulam's notion,

an influx of the spirits of others may change the native character of his heart and understanding, before he is aware of it; or, according to the other suggestion, he may so habitually contract the pupil of his mind, as to be disqualified for the comprehension of a great subject, and fit only for microscopick observations. Whereas by keeping the company and reading the works of men of magnanimity and genius only, he may receive their qualities by subtile transmission, and eventually, get the eye, the ardour and the enterprise of an eagle.

But whither am I wandering? Permit me to return. Admitting the correctness of the principles formerly mentioned, it would seem to be a fair conclusion that whenever an orator wishes to know what effect he has wrought on his audience, he should coolly and conscienciously propound to himself this question: Have I, myself, throughout my

oration, felt those clear and cogent convictions of judgment, and that pure and exalted fire of the soul, with which I wished to inspire others? For, he may rely on it, that he can no more impart (or to use Bacon's word, transmit) convictions and sensations which he himself has not, at the time, sincerely felt, than he can convey a clear title to property, in which he himself has no title.

This leads me to remark a defect which I have noticed more than once in this country. Following up too closely the cold conceit of the Roman division of an oration, the speakers set aside a particular part of their discourse, usually the peroration, in which, they take it into their heads that they will be pathetick. Accordingly when they reach this part, whether it be prompted by the feelings or not, a mighty bustle commences. The speaker pricks up his ears, erects his

chest, tosses his arms with hysterical vehemence, and says every thing which he supposes ought to affect his hearers; but it is all in vain for it is obvious that every thing he

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says is prompted by the head; and, however it may display his ingenuity and fertility, however it may appeal to the admiration of his hearers, it will never strike deeper. The hearts of the audience will refuse all commerce except with the heart of the speaker; nor, in this commerce, is it possible, by any disguise, however artful, to impose false ware on them, However the speaker may labour to seem to feel, however near he may approach to the appearance of the reality, the heart nevertheless possesses a keen unerring sense, which never fails to detect the imposture. It would seem as if the heart of man stamps a secret mark on all its effusions, which alone can give them currency, and

which no ingenuity, however adroit, can suc cessfully counterfeit.

I have been not a little diverted, here, in listening to some fine orators, who deal almost intirely in this pathos of the head. They practise the start, the pause-make an immense parade of attitudes and gestures, and seem to imagine themselves piercing the heart with a thousand wounds. The heart all the time, developing every trick that is played to cajole her, and sitting serene and composed, looks on and smiles at the ridiculous pageant as it passes.

Nothing can, in my opinion, be more ill judged in an orator, than to indulge himself in this idle, artificial parade. It is particularly unfortunate in an exordium. It is as much as to say caveat auditor; and for my own part, the moment I see an orator rise with this menacing majesty; assume a look of solemn wisdom; stretch forth his right arm,