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661. CATO'S SENATE. Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in counCesar's approach has summon'd us together, [cil. And Rome attends her fate from our resolves. How shall we treat this bold aspiring man? Success still follows him, and backs his crimes. Pharsalia-gave him Rome: Egypt-has since Received his yoke, and the whole Nile is Cesar's. Why should I mention Juba's overthrow, And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands. Still smoke with blood. 'Tis time we should decree

What course to take. Our foe advances on us, And envies us, even Libya's sultry deserts. Fathers, pronounce your thoughts are they still To hold it out, and fight it to the last? [fixed Or, are your hearts subdued at length, and wro't, By time and ill success, to a submission? Sempronius, speak.

Sempronius. My voice is still for war.
Gods can a Roman senate long debate,
Which of the two to choose, slavery, or death?
No; let us rise at once, gird on our swords,
And, at the head of our remaining troops,
Attack the foe, break through the thick array
Of his thronged legions, and charge home upon
Perhaps some arm. more lucky than the rest, [him.
May reach his heart, and free the world-from
bondage.

Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help;
Rise, and revenge her slaughtered citizens,
Or share their fate! The corpse of half her senate
Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we
Sit here, deliberating in cold debates,
If we should sacrifice our lives to honor,
Or wear them out in servitude, and chains.

Rouse up, for shame! our brothers of Pharsalia
Point at their wounds, and cry aloud-To battle!
Great Pompey's shade-complains that we are
slow,
[us
And Scipio's ghost-walks unrevenged, amongst
Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal-
Transport thee thus, beyond the bounds of rea-
True fortitude is seen, in great exploits, [son:
That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides:
All else is towering frenzy and distraction.
Are not the lives of those, who draw the sword,
In Rome's defence, intrusted to our care?
Should we thus lead them to a field of slaughter,
Might not the impartial world, with reason, say,
We lavished at our deaths, the blood of thousands,
To grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious;
Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion,
Lucius. My thoughts, I must confess, are
turned on peace.
Already, have our quarrels filled the world-
With widows and with orphans: Scythia mourns
Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions-
Lie half-unpeopled, by the feuds of Rome: [kind.
'Tis time to sheathe the sword, and spare man-
It is not Cesar, but the gods, iny fathers,
The gods declare against us, and repel

Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle,
(Prompted by blind revenge, and wild despair,)
Were to refuse the awards of Providence,
And not to rest in Heaven's determination.
Already have we shown our love to Rome;
Now, let us show submission to the gods.
We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves,
But free the commonwealth; when this end fails,

Arms have no further use: our country's cause,
That drew our swords, now wrests 'ein from our
And bids us not delight in Roman blood, [hands,
Unprofitably shed: what men could do-
Is done already: heaven and earth--will witness,
If--Rome--must-fall, that we are innocent.
Semp. This smooth discourse, and mild behav-
Conceal a traitor--something whispers me [ior oft
All is not right-Cato beware of Lucius.

Cato. Let us appear-nor rash, nor diffident:
Immoderate valor-swells into a fault;
And fear, admitted into public councils,

Betrays-like treason. Let us shun 'em both.
Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs [round us;
Are grown thus desperate: we have bulwarks
Within our walls, are troops--inured to toil,
In Afric's heats, and seasoned to the sun;
Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us,
Ready to rise, at its young prince's call.
While there is hope, do not distrust the gods;
But wait, at least, till Cesar's near approach
Force us to yield. "Twill never be too late
To sue for chains, and own a conqueror.
Why should Rome fall a moment, ere her time?
No, let us draw her term of freedom out,
In its full length, and spin it to the last.
So, shall we gain still one day's liberty;
And let me perish; but, in Cato's judgment,
A day, an HOUR, of virtuous liberty,
Is worth a whole eternity--in bondage.-Addison.

662. GOD IN NATURE.-There is religion in every thing around us a calm and holy religion, in the unbreathing things of nature, which man would do well to imitate. It is a meek and blessed influence, stealing in as it were, unawares upon the heart. It comes quietly, and without excitement. It has no terror, no gloom in its approaches. It does not rouse up the passions; it is untrammeled by the creeds, and unshadowed by the superstitions of man. It is fresh from the hands of its author, glowing from the immediate pres ence of the Great Spirit, which pervades and quickens it.

It is written on the arched sky. It looks out from every star. It is on the sailing cloud, and in the invisible wind. It is among the hills and valleys of the earth-where the shrubless mountain-top-pierces the thin atmosphere of eternal winter-or where the mighty forest fluctuates, before the strong wind, with its dark waves of green foliage. It is spread out like a legible language, upon the broad face of the unsleeping ocean. It is the poetry of nature. It is this which uplifts the spirit within us, until it is strong enough to overlook the shadows of our place of prochain that binds us to materiality; and bation; which breaks, link after link, the which opens to our imagination a world of spiritual beauty and holiness.

PLAY-PLACE OF EARLY DAYS.

Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise,
We love the play-place of our early days;
The scene is touching, and the heart is stone,
That feels not at that sight, and feels at none.
The wall on which we tried our graving skill,
The very name we carv'd subsisting still;
The bench on which we sat while deep employ'd,
Though mangled, hacked, and hewed, not yet
destroyed;

The little ones, unbutton'd, glowing hot,
Playing our games, and on the very spot;
As happy as we once, to kneel and draw
The chalky ring, and knuckle down at taw;
To pitch the ball into the grounded hat,
Or drive it devious with a dextrous pat;
The pleasing spectacle at once excites
Such recollection of our own delights,
That, viewing it, we seem almost t' obtain
Our innocent, sweet, simple years again. Cowper
Come sleep, O sleep, the certain knot of peace,
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of wo;
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release.
Th' indifferent judge between the high and low.

663. PATRICK HENRY'S SPEECH, 1775. No man-thinks more highly, than I do, of the patriotism, as well as the abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen, who have just addressed the house. But, different men-often see the same subject in different lights; and therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen, if, entertaining, as I do, opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I should speak forth my sentiments-freely, and without reserve. This, sir, is no time for ceremony. The question before the house is one of awful moment to this country. For my part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom, or slavery: and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject, ought to be the freedom of debate. It is only in this way we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God, and to our country. Were I to withhold my sentiments, at such a time as this, through fear of giving offence, I should consider myself as guilty of treason toward my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven; whom I revere above all earthly kings. It is natural for man-to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth; and listen-to the song of that syren, till she transforms us-into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for LIBERTY? Are we disposed to be of the number of those, who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things, which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.

insult; our supplications have been disregarded, and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace, and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free; if we mean to preserve, inviolate, those inestimable privileges, for which we have been so long contending; if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle, in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves, never to abandon, until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtainedwe must fight! I repeat it!-sir, we must FIGHT! An appeal to arms, and to the GOD of hosts, is all that is left us. They tell us, sir, that we are weak, unable to cope--with so formidable an adversary But when-shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be-when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength-by irresolution, and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance, by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us-hand-and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means, which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed—in the holy cause of LIBERTY, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible, by any force, which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God,-who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong-alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the BRAVE. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat, but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged. Their clanking-may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable-and let it cOME!-I repeat it, sir, let it COME!

It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry--PEACE-PEACE-but there is NO peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale, that sweeps from the north, will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle! What is it, that gentlemen wish? what would they have? Is life-so-dear, or peace-so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains—and slavery? Forbid it,-Almighty GoD.-I know not what course others may take,--but, as for me, give me LIBERTY,-or give me-DEATH!"

664. AMERICA.

I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided; and that-is the lamp-of EXPERIENCE. I know of no way of judging of the future, but by the past. And, judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been, in the conduct of the British ministry, for the last ten years. to justify those hopes, with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves, and the house? Is it that insidious smile, with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare-to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves-how this gracious reception of our petition--comports with those warlike preparations, which cover our waters, and darken our land. Are fleets, and armies, necessary to a work of love, and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war, and subjugation-the last arguments-to which kings resort. I ask, Still one great clime, in full and free defiance, gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can Yet rears her crest, unconquer'd and sublime, gentlemen assign any other, possible motive for it? Above the fair Atlantic! she has taught Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of Her Esau brethren that the haughty flag, the world, to call for all this accumulation of na-The floating fence of Albion's feebler crag, [bought vies, and armies? No sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over-to bind, and rivet upon us, those chains, which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty, and humble supplication? What terms shall we find, which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done, to avert the storm. which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have IMPLORED its interposition--to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry, and parliament. Our petitions-have been slighted; our remonstrances-have produced additional violence and

May strike to those whose red right hands have
Rights cheaply earn'd with blood. Still, still. forever
Better, though each man's life-blood were a river,
That it should flow, and overflow, than creep
Through thousand lazy channels in our veins,
Damm'd like the dull canal, with locks and chains, *
And moving, as a sick man in his sleep,
Three paces, and then faltering :-better be
Where the extinguish'd Spartans still are free,
In their proud charnel of Thermopylæ,
Than stagnate in our marsh,--or o'er the deep
Fly, and one current to the ocean add,
One spirit to the souls our fathers had,
One freeman more, America, to thee!-Byron.

OF THE DREAD OF REFORM. The true and only reason, for not attempting a reform of the state of things is, that the interest of corruption-requires them to remain as they are.

665. FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.
When the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul that slumbered
To a holy, calm delight—
Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful fire-light
Dance upon the parlor-wall--
Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;
The beloved-one, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more!

He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife-
By the road-side fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life!
They, the holy ones and weakly,

Who the cross of suffering bore-
Folded their pale hands so meekly-
Spake with us on earth no more!
And with them the being beauteous
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.

With a slow and noisless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine;
And she sits and gazes at me,

With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.
Uttered not, yet comprehended,

Is the spirit's voiceless prayer-
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.
Oh! though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,

If I but remember only

Such as these have lived and died!

666. THE WAY TO BE HAPPY. All mankind are brethren. Every human being, who comes in our way, and stands in need of our aid, is entitled to our sympathy. Human nature, and distress, form a legitimate claim to our friendly assistance. We are not to withhold our brotherly affection, from any of our fellow men, because an imaginary line, a river, a ridge of mountains, or a channel of the ocean, may have separated their birth-place from ours; because their manners, customs, and political institutions are not the same with our own; because, by reason of difference of climate, and manner of life, their skin is tinged with a different color; because they offer their tribute of homage to the Creator in a different manner; or, because there is some difference, or shade of difference, between their religious rites, and opinions, and ours.

The sentiment of universal benevolenceexpands the heart, humanizes the mind, and fosters every generous affection; but jealousy, malace, hatred, and other malignant passions-pervert the soul, and cramp, and vitiate-the best feelings of our nature. They wage war with every manly, and liberal prin

ciple. Instead of sweeping the globe, with the guilty purpose of oppressing the weak, robbing the defenceless, exciting the sound of lamentation in the humble hut, and drawing forth the tears of the widow, and the orphan, let us do what is in our power-to proIn mote the happiness of our fellow men. the genuine spirit of brotherly affection, let us smoke the pipe of peace-with the untutored wanderer of the western wildernessor, partake of bread, and salt, with the hardy native of the African desert.

Mankind often complain, that they are unhappy; that they tread in a thorny path, and drink of a bitter stream. But whence do their sufferings, and sorrows flow? Do they not, in a great measure, proceed from their own selfish, and malignant passions? Remove the cause, and the effect will disappear. Banish malice, envy, hatred; let genuine good-will towards each other prevail, and a great portion of human misery -- will fade away, like darkness--before the rising sun. It will dissipate the gloom, which often clouds the countenance, and remove the grief, which often preys upon the heart.-Fergus.

EDUCATION.

If thou hast plucked a flower

Of richest, rarest ray,

And borne it from its garden bower,
Thou knowest 't will fade away:
If thou hast gathered gold,
Unrusted and refined,

That glittering hoard of worth untold,
Thou knowest the thief may find.

There is a plant that fears

No adverse season's strife,

But with an inborn fragrance cheers
The wintry eye of life;

There is a wealth that foils

The robber's roving eye,

The guerdon of the mind that toils
For immortality.

O ye, whose brows are bright,
Whose bosoms feel no thorn,
Seek knowledge, by the rosy light
Of youth's unfolding morn;
With ardor uncontrolled,

Seek wisdom's lore sublime,
And win the garland, and the gold
That cannot change with time.—Sigourney

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667. THE PERFECT ORATOR. Imagine to yourselves-a Demosthenes, addressing the most illustrious assembly in the world, upon a point, whereon the fate of the most illustrious of nations depended. How awful such a meeting! how vast the subject! By the power of his eloquence, the augustness of the assembly is lost-in the dignity of the orator; and the importance of the subject, for a while, superseded by the admiration of his talents. With what strength of argument, with what powers of the fancy, with what emotions of the heart, does he assault, and subjugate, the whole man; and, at once, captivate his reason, his imagination, and his passions! To effect this, must be the utmost effort of the most improved state of human nature. Not a faculty that he possesses, but is here exerted to its highest pitch. All his internal powers are at work; all his external, testify their energies.

Within, the memory, the fancy, the judgment, the passions, are all busy; without, every muscle, every nerve is exerted; not a feature, not a limb, but speaks. The organs of the body, attuned to the exertions of the mind, thro' the kindred organs of the hearers, instantaneously vibrate those energies-from soul to soul. Notwithstanding the diversity of minds, in such a multitude, by the light. ning of eloquence, they are melted into one mass; the whole assembly, actuated in one and the same way, become, as it were, but one man, and have but one voice. The universal cry is-Let us march against Philip, let us fight for our liberties-let us conquer, or die.

668. WIFE, CHILDREN, AND FRIENDS. When the black-letter'd list to the gods was presented, The list of what fate for each mortal intends,

At the long string of ills a kind goddess relented,

And slipp'd in three blessings, wife, children, and friends.

In vain surly Pluto declared he was cheated,

And justice divine could not compass her ends,
The scheme of man's penance he swore was defeated,

For earth becomes heaven with wife, children, and friends.

If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands rested,
The fund, ill-secured, oft in bankruptcy ends,
But the heart issues bills, which are never protested,
When drawn on the firm of-wife, children, and friends.
The soldier, whose deeds live immortal in story,
When duty to far distant latitudes sends,
With transport would barter whole ages of glory,
For one happy hour with wife, children, and friends.
Though valor still glows in life's waning embers,
The death-wounded tar, who his colors defends,
Drops a tear of regret, as he dying remembers,

How blest was his home, with wife, children, and friends.
Though the spice-breathing gale, o'er his caravan hovers,
Though around him Arabia's whole fragrance descends,
The merchant still thinks of the woodbine that covers
The bower where he sat with wife, children, and friends.
The day-spring of youth, still unclouded with sorrow,
Alone on itself for enjoyment depends,

But drear is the twilight of age, if it borrow

No warmth from the smiles of wife, children and friends.
Let the breath of renown ever freshen and nourish
The laurel that o'er her fair favorites bends,
O'er me wave the willow, and long may it flourish,
Bedew'd with the tears of wife, children, and friends.
Friendship is constant in all other things,
Save in the office and affairs of love:
Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues.
Let every eye negotiate for itself,

And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch,
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.

669. TIME-NEW YEAR.

"Tis midnight's holy hour; and silence, now,
Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er [winds,
The still-and pulseless world. Hark! on the
The bell's deep tones are swelling: 'tis the knell
Of the departed-year. No funeral train
Is sweeping past; yet, on the stream, and wood,
With melancholy light, the moonbeam's rest,
Like a pale, spotless shroud: the air is stirred,
As by a mourner's sigh; and, on yon cloud,
That floats so still, and placidly, through heaven,
The spirits of the seasons-seem to stand, [form,
Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn's solemn
And Winter, with his aged locks, and breath,
In mournful cadence, that come abroad,-
Like the far wind-harp's wild, and touching wail,
A melancholy dirge-o'er the dead year-
Gone-from the earth-forever.

Tis a time

For memory, and tears. Within the deep,
Still chambers of the heart, a spectre dim,
Whose tones-are like the wizard's voice of Time,
Heard from the tomb of ages, points its cold—
And solemn finger-to the beautiful
And holy visions, that have passed away,
And left no shadow of their loveliness,
On the dead waste of life. That spectre-lifts
The coffin-lid of Hope, and Joy, and Love,
And, bending, mournfully, above the pale, [flowers
Sweet forms, that slumber there, scatters dead
O'er what has passed-to nothingness. The year
Has gone, and, with it, many a glorious throng
Of happy dreams. Its mark-is on each brow,
Its shadow-in each heart. In its swift course,
It waved its sceptre o'er the beautiful-
And they are not. It laid its palid hand
Upon the strong man-and the haughty form-
Is fallen, and the flashing eye-is dim.
It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged
The bright and joyous-and the tearful wail-
Of stricken ones-is heard, where erst, the song,
And reckless shout-resounded. It passed o'er
The battle-plain,where sword, and spear, and shield
Flashed-in the light of mid-day-and the strength
Of serried hosts is shivered, and the grass,
Green from the soil of carnage, waves above
The crushed, and mouldering skeleton. It came,
And faded, like a wreath of mist, at eve;
Yet, ere it melted in the viewless air,
It heralded its millions-to their home-
In the dim land-of dreams.

Looking into the fire is very injurious to the eyes, particularly a coal fire. The stimulus of light and heat united, soon destroys the eyes. Looking at molten iron will soon destroy the sight. Reading in the twilight is injurious to the eyes, as they are obliged to make great exertion. Reading or sewing with a side light, injures the eyes, as both eyes should be exposed to an equal degree of light. The reason is, the sympathy between the eyes is so great, that if the pupil of one is dilated by being kept partially in the shade, the one that is most exposed cannot contract itself sufficiently for protection, and will ultimately be injured. Those who wish to preserve their sight, should preserve their general health by correct habits, and give their eyes just work enough, with a due degree of light.

670. AMERICA. I appeal to history! Tell me, thou reverend chronicler of the grave, can all the illusions of ambition realized, can all the wealth of a universal commerce, can all the achievements of successful heroism, or can all the establishments of this world's wisdom, secure to the empire, the permanency of its possessions? Alas! Troy thought so once; yet the land of Priam lives only in song!

Thebes thought so once; yet her hundred gates have crumbled, and her very tombs are as the dust they were vainly intended to commemorate! So thought Palmyra-yet where is she? So thought the country of Demosthenes and the Spartan; yet Leonidas is trampled by the timid slave, and Athens insulted by the servile, mindless and enervate Ottoman !

In his hurried march, Time has but looked at their imagined immortality; and all its vanities, from the palace to the tomb, have, with their ruins, erased the very impression of his footsteps! The days of their glory are as if they never had been; and the island, that was then a speck, rude and neglected in the barren ocean, now rivals the ubiquity of their commerce, the glory of their arms, the fame of their philosophy, the eloquence of their senate, and the inspiration of their bards!

Who shall say, then, contemplating the past, that England, proud and potent as she appears, may not, one day, be what Athens is, and the young America yet soar to be what Athens was! Who shall say, that, when the European column shall have mouldered, and the night of barbarism obscured its very ruins, that mighty continent may not emerge from the horison to rule, for its time, sovereign of the ascendant!-Phillips.

671. THE POWER OF ELOQUENCE.
Heard ye-those loud-contending waves,
That shook-Cecropia's pillared state?
Saw ye the mighty, from their graves
Look up, and tremble at her fate?
Who-shall calm the angry storm?
Who, the mighty task perform,

And bid the raging tumult-cease?
See the son of Hermes rise;
With syren tongue, and speaking eyes,
Hush the noise, and soothe to peace!

Lo! from the regions of the north,

The reddening storm of battle pours; Rolls along the trembling earth, Fastens on Olynthian towers.

"Where rests the sword! where sleep the brave, Awake! Cecropia's ally save,

From the fury of the blast;
Burst the storm on Phocis' walls;
Rise! or Greece forever falls,

Up! or freedom-breathes her last!"
The jarring states, obsequious now,
View the patriot's hand on high;'
Thunder-gathering on his brow;
Lightning-flashing from his eye!
Borne by the tide of words along,
One voice, one mind, inspire the throng:
"To arms! to arms! to arms!" they cry,
"Grasp the shield, and draw the sword,
Lead us to Philippi's lord,

Let us conquer him-or die !"
Ah eloquence! thou wast undone;

Wast from thy native country driven, When tyranny-eclipsed the sun,

And blotted out the stars of heaven. When liberty, from Greece withdrew, And o'er the Adriatic flew,

To where the Tiber pours his urn, She struck the rude Tarpeian rock; Sparks were kindled by the shock

Again, thy fires began to burn!

Now, shining forth, thou madest complaint,
The conscript fathers-to thy charms;
Roused the world-bestriding giant,

Sinking fast, in slavery's arms!
I see thee stand-by freedom's fane,
Pouring the persuasive strain,

Giving vast conceptions birth:
Hark! I hear thy thunder's sound,
Shake the forum-round-and round,
Shake-the pillars-of the earth!
First-born of liberty divine!

Put on religion's bright array;
Speak! and the starless grave-shall shine,
The portal-of eternal day!
Rise, kindling with the orient beam;
Let Calvary's hill-inspire the theme!

Unfold the garments-rolled in blood!
O touch the soul, touch all her chords,
With all the omnipotence of words,

And point the way to heaven-to God.—Carey. THE INFLUENCE OF GOLD. A man who is furnished with arguments from the mint, will convince his antagonist much sooner than one who draws them from reason and philosophy. Gold is a wonderful clearer of the understanding; it dissipates every doubt and scruple in an instant; accommodates itself to the meanest capacities, silences the loud and clamorous, and brings over the most obstinate and inflexible. Philip of Macedon was a man of most invincible reason this way. He refuted by it all the wisdom of Athens, confounded their statesmen, struck their orators dumb, and at length, argued them out of all their liberties.-Addison.

THE WORLD TO COME.

If all our hopes, and all our fears,

Were prisoned-in life's narrow bound; If travelers-through this vale of tears, We saw no better world beyond; Oh! what could check the rising sigh? What earthly thing-could pleasure give? Oh! who would venture then, to dieOr who would venture then-to live? Were life a dark, and desert moor,

Where mists-and clouds eternal-spread Their gloomy vail behind, before,

And tempests thunder-overhead;
Where not a sun-beam-breaks the gloom,
And not a floweret-smiles beneath,
Who would exist--in such a tomb-

Who dwell in darkness-and in death?
And such were life, without the ray
Of our divine religion given;

"Tis this. that makes our darkness, day,

"Tis this, that makes our earth-a heaven!

Bright is the golden sun above,

And beautiful-the flowers, that bloom, And all is joy, and all is love,

Reflected--from the world to come!

Life is a weary interlude

Which doth short joys, long woes include:
The world the stage, the prologue tears;
The acts vain hopes and varied fears;
The scene shuts up with loss of breath,
And leaves no epilogue but death!-H. King.
The stomach, hath no ears.

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