601. THE EFFECTS OF GENTLENESS. Gentleness is the great avenue to mutual enjoyment. Amidst the strife of interfering interests, it tempers the violence of contention, and keeps alive the seeds of harmony. It softens animosities, renews endearments, and renders the countenance of man, a refreshment to man. Banish gentleness from the earth; suppose the world to be filled, with none but harsh and contentious spirits, and what sort of society would remain? the solitude of the desert were preferable to it. The conflict of jarring elements in chaos, the cave where subterraneous winds contend and roar, the den where serpents hiss and beasts of the forest howl, would be the only proper representation of such assemblies of men. Strange! that, where men have all one common interest, they should so often concur in defeating it. Has not nature already provided a sufficient quantity of evils for the state of man? As if we did not suffer enough from the storm which beats upon us without, must we conspire also, in those societies where we assemble, in order to find a retreat from that storm, to harass one another? A NIGHT SCENE IN TURKEY. 'Twas midnight: on the mountains brown Such as, when winds, and harp-strings meet; It seemed to those, within the wall, A cry-prophetic of their fall; Wakes, though but for a stranger's knell. 602. PRESS ON. This is a speech, brief, but full of inspiration, and opening the way to all victory. The mystery of Napoleon's career was this,--under all difficulties and discouragements, "PRESS ON!" It solves the problem of all heroes; it is the rule, by which to weigh rightly, all wonderful successes, and triumphal marches-to fortune and genius. It should be the motto of all, old--and young, high-and low, fortunate-and unfortunate, so called. "PRESS ON!" Never despair; never be discouraged, however stormy the heavens, however dark the way; however great the difficulties, and repeated the failures,-"PRESS ON!" If fortune-has played false with thee to-day, do thou play true for thyself to-mor row. If thy riches have taken wings, and left thee, do not weep thy life away; but be up and doing, and retrieve the loss, by new energies and action. If an unfortunate bargain-has deranged thy business, do not fold thy arms, and give up all as lost; but stir thyself, and work the more vigorously. If those whom thou hast trusted, have betrayed thee, do not be discouraged, do not idly weep, but "PRESS ON!" find others; or, what is better, learn to live within thyself. Let the foolishness of yesterday-make thee wise to-day. If thy affections have been poured out like water in the desert, do not sit down and perish of thirst,-but press on; a beautiful oasis is before thee, and thou mayst reach it, if thou wilt. If another-has been false to thee, do not thou increase the evil-by being false to thyself. Do not say the world hath lost its poetry and beauty; 'tis not so; and even if it be so, make thine own poetry and beauty, by a brave, a true, and, abov all, a religious life. ASPIRATIONS OF YOUTH. Higher, higher, will we climb, That our names-may live through time, Excellence, true beauty; Hearts, and hands together, To the saints' communion: 603 HANNIBAL TO HIS SOLDIERS. On The vulture-flapped his sail-like wings, though heavily he flew; what side soever I turn my eyes, I behold all A mote, upon the sun's broad face, he seemed unto my view; full of courage and strength; a veteran infant-But once, I thought I saw him stoop, as if he would alight,-ry, a most gallant cavalry; you, my allies, "Twas only a delusive thought, for all had vanished quite. most faithful and valiant; you, Carthaginians, All search was vain, and years had passed; that child was ne'er whom not only your country's cause, but the When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty spot, [forgot, justest anger, impels to battle. The hope, the From thence, upon a rugged crag-the chamois never reached, courage of assailants, is always greater than of those, who act upon the defensive. With hostile banners displayed, you are come down upon Italy; you bring the war. Grief, injuries, indignities, fire your minds, and spur you forward to revenge. First, they demand me-that I, your general, should be delivered up to them; next, all of you, who had fought at the siege of Saguntum; and we were to be put to death-by the extremest tortures. Proud, and cruel nation! every thing must be yours, and at your dis- | posal! You are to prescribe to us, with whom we shall make war, with whom we shall make peace! You are to set us bounds; to shut us up within hills and rivers; but you-you are not to observe the limits, which yourselves have fixed. Pass not the Iberus! What next? Touch not the Saguntines; is Saguntum upon the Iberus? move not a step towards that city. Is it a small matter, then, that you have deprived us of our ancient possessions, Sicily and Sardinia? you would have Spain, too? Well, we shall yield Spain; and then-you will pass into Africa! Will pass, did I say? this very year, they ordered one of their consuls into Africa, the other into Spain. No, soldiers, there is nothing left for us, but what we can vindicate with our swords. Come on, then-be men. The Romans-may with more safety be cowards; they have their own country behind them; have places of refuge to flee to, and are secure from danger in the roads thither; but for you, there is no middle fortune between death, and victory. Let this be but well fixed in your minds, and once again, I say, you are conquerors.--Livy. 604. VULTURE AND CAPTIVE INFANT. I've been among the mighty Alps, and wandered thro' their vales, more. And there, I, from a shepherd, heard a narrative of fear, A tale to rend a mortal heart, which mothers-might not hear: "It is among these barren cliffs-the ravenous vulture dwells, I hurried out to learn the cause; but, overwhelmed with fright, I He saw-an infant's fleshless bones-the elements had bleached! At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove; And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral. Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mouru; The moon, half extinguish'd, her crescent displays: She shone, and the planets were lost, in her blaze. The path, that conducts thee to splendor again: ""Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more: Kind nature the embryo blossom will save: O pity, great Father of light, then I cried, Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee! From doubt, and from darkness thou ouly, canst free. The bright, and the balmy effulgence of morn. Of light, for gods to journey by. In struggling with misfortunes, 606. THE CHARACTER OF WOMAN. The influence of the female character-is now felt, and acknowledged, in all the relations of life. I speak not now, of those distinguished women, who instruct their age through the public press. Nor of those, whose devout strains we take upon our lips, when we worship. But of a much larger class; of those, whose influence is felt in the relations of neighbor, friend, daughter, wife, mother. Who waits at the couch of the sick, to administer tender charities, while life lingers, or to perform the last acts of kindness, when death comes? Where shall we look for those xamples of friendship, that most adorn our ature; those abiding friendships, which trust, even when betrayed, and survive all changes of fortune? Where shall we find the brightest illustration of filial piety? Have you ever seen a daughter, herself, perhaps, timid and helpless, watching the decline of an aged parent, and holding out, with heroic fortitude, to anticipate his wishes, to administer to his wants, and to sustain his tottering steps to the very borders of the grave? But in no relation-does woman exercise so deep an influence, both immediately, and prospectively, as in that of mother. To her is committed the immortal treasure of the infant mind. Upon her-devolves the care of the first stages of that course of discipline, which is to form a being, perhaps the most frail and helpless in the world, the fearless ruler of animated creation, and the devout adorer of his great Creator. Her smiles call into exercise the first affections, that spring up in our hearts. She cherishes, and expands-the earliest germs of our intellects. She breathes over us her deepest devotions. She lifts our little hands, and teaches our little tongues to lisp in prayer. She watches over us, like a guardian angel, and protects us through all our helpless years, when we know not of her cares, and her anxieties, on our account. She follows us into the world of men, and lives in us, and blesses us, when she lives not otherwise upon the earth. What constitutes the centre of every home? Whither do our thoughts turn, when our feet are weary with wandering, and our hearts sick with disappointments? Where shall the truant and forgetful husband go-for sympathy, unalloyed, and without design, but to the bosom of her who is ever ready, and waiting to share in his adversity, or prosperity? And if there be a tribunal, where the sins and the follies of a froward child-may hope for pardon and forgiveness, this side heaven, that tribunal-is the heart of a fond, and devoted mother. INDIAN NAMES. "How can the red men be forgotten, while so may of our states and territories, bays, lakes, and rivers, are indelibly stamped by names of their giving?" Ye say they all have pass'd away, Ye may not wash it out. Ye say their conelike cabins, That cluster'd o'er the vale, Have disappear'd, as wither'd leaves- Old Massachusetts-wears it-- Amid his young renown: Where her quiet foliage waves, And Alleghany-graves its tone-- IMPROVEMENT OF MIND WITHOUT DISPLAY. Well-informed persons will easily be discovered, to have read the best books, tho' they are not always detailing lists of authors: for a muster-roll of names--may be learned from the catalogue, as well as from the library. The honey--owes its exquisite taste--to the fragrance of the sweetest flowers; yet the skill of the little artificer, appears in this, that the delicious stores are so admirably worked Finally, her influence is felt, deeply, in reli- up, and there is such a due proportion obgion. "If christianity, should be compelled served in mixing them, that the perfection of to flee from the mansions of the great, the the whole--consists in its not tasting, indiacademies of philosophers, the halls of legis-vidually, of the rose, the jassamine, the carnalators, or the throng of busy men, we should find her last, and purest retreat-with woman at the fireside; her last altar-would be the female heart; her last audience would be the children gathered round the knees of the mother; her last sacrifice, the secret prayer, escaping in silence from her lips, and heard, perhaps, only at the throne of God." How empty, learning, and how vain is art; Save where it guides the life, and mends the heart. Fancy and pride reach things at vast expense. tion, or any of those sweets, of the very es- What stronger breastplate than a heart untaint'd? 607. ODE ON THE PASSIONS. Next, Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, In lightnings, own'd his secret stings: With woful measures, wan Despair Low, sullen sounds! his grief beguiled; A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 'Twas sad, by fits-by starts, 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope; with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure! Still it whisper'd-promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. Still would her touch the strain prolong; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still, through all her song. And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft, responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope, enchanted, smiled and wav'd her golden hair. And longer had she sung-but, with a frown, Revenge-impatient rose, [down; He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder And, with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast, so loud and dread, And, ever and anon, he beat 'The doubling drum with furious heat. [tween, And though, sometimes, each dreary pause beDejected Pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd; Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd: And, now, it courted Love; now, raving, call'd on Hate. With eyes upraised, as one inspired, And, from her wild sequester'd seat, Pour'd thro' the mellow horn her pensive soul: [stole ; Thro' glades and glooms, the mingled measure Or o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay, Round-a holy calm diffusing, Love of peace, and lonely musing In hollow murmurs-died away. But, oh, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone! When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulders flung, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, [rung; Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known! The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chaste eyed And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear. But soon, he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet, entrancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amid the festal-sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing; While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love, fram'd with Mirth, a gay fantastic roundLoose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; And he, amid his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odors-from his dewy wings. 608. THE CHESTNUT HORSE. An Eaton stripling, training for the law, A dunce at syntax, but a dab at taw, One happy Christmas, laid upon the shelf His cap and gown, and stores of learned pelf, With all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome, "Well, Tom, the road; what saw you worth discerning? Of Locke and Bacon-antiquated fools! "Come, let's try it!" For every John pie must be a pie-John."-(pigeon.) Tom dreamt all night of boots and leather breeches, Till under a large tree Sir Peter stopt, Caught at a branch, and shook it, when down fell A fine horse chestnut, in its prickly shell. "There, Tom, take that."-" Well, sir, and what beside?" "Why, since you're booted, saddle it and ride." "Ride! what, a chestnut, sir ?"-" Of course, For I can prove that chestnut is a horse; Not from the doubtful, fusty, musty rules Of Locke and Bacon, antiquated fools, Nor old Malebranch, blind pilot into knowledge, But by the laws of wit and Eton college; That a pie John's the same as a John pie, Know, Nature's children all divide her care; 609. NATIONAL UNION. Do not, gentlemen, suffer the rage of passion to drive reason from her seat. If this law be indeed bad, let us join to remedy its defects. Has it been passed in a manner which wounded your pride, or roused your resentment? Have, I conjure you, the magnanimity to pardon that offence. I entreat, I implore you, to sacrifice those angry passions to the interests of our country. Pour out this pride of opinion. on the altar of patriotism. Let it be an expiatory libation for the weal of America. Do not suffer that pride to plunge us all into the abyss of ruin. Indeed, indeed, it will be but of little, very little avail, whether one opinion or the other be right or wrong; it will heal no wounds, it will pay no debts, it will rebuild no ravaged towns. Do not rely on that popular will, which has brought us frail beings into political existence. That opinion is but a changeable thing. It will soon change. This very measure will change it. You will be deceived. Do not, I beseech you, in reliance on a foundation so frail, commit the dignity, the harmony, the existence of our nation to the wild wind. Trust not your treasure to the waves. Throw not your compass and your charts into the ocean. Do not believe that its billows will waft you into port. Indeed, indeed, you will be deceived. Cast not away this only anchor of our safety. I have seen its progress. I know the difficulties through which it was obtained. I stand in the presence of Almighty God and of the world. I declare to you, that if you lose this charter, never, no never, will you get another. We are now perhaps arrived at the parting point. Here, even here, we stand on the brink of fate. Pause, then-pause. For Heaven's sake, pause.-Morris. ATHEIST AND ACORN. "Methinks the world-seems oddly made, Its ill contrivance knows. My better judgment-would have hung No more-the caviler could say, No further faults descry; For, upwards gazing, as he lay, An acorn, loosened from its spray, The wounded part-with tears ran o'er, Fool! had that bough-a pumpkin bore, RY. MY COUNTRY. I love my country's pine-clad hills, I love her rivers, deep and wide, I love her forests, dark and lone, In varied colors bright. Have all their charms for me; The time shall come, the fated hour is nigh, A mere anatomy, a mountebank, False pleasure-from abroad her joys imparts. |