education in Persia and in Rome, the Pilgrims of New England were a Christian band. Like the patriarchs of old, they wandered far from the homes of their fathers; and as with them, too, the God of Abraham still continued in the midst. His altar was erected on the rocks of Plymouth; and this land was dedicated a temple of his praise. In return, his protecting power was displayed, in the defence he furnished against Indian tribes,-extended onward through our revolutionary scenes, enabling our nation, like Hercules in his cradle, to escape the serpentine coils of France, as well as Britain, and evident in all our unparalleled success. And now, far removed from the intrigues of Europe, and fearless in our strength, what nation, in true greatness, can be compared with this? Let us be united! Even the geographical features and arrangement of our country, (unlike the peninsular sequestrations of Spain, Italy and Greece, the prison cliffs of Switzerland, or the severed soil of Britain,) proclaim that it was intended for a united people, one national brotherhood, for whose enjoyment the earth teems with productions for every necessity and convenience, while facilities are presented that are unsurpassed, for safe, speedy, internal transportation. Let us, then, forever remain united, even though our settlements reflect the sunbeams from the shores of the Pacific, and our population be such that millions of soldiery could be spared to march for our defence! Above all, let us, like our fathers, be renowned for virtue; for thus, and thus only, can we realize the prediction uttered by the bard, in view of the prospective greatness of America: "Thy reign is the last, and noblest of time." EXERCISE IV.-RECONCILIATION BETWEEN GREAT BRITAIN AND THE UNITED STATES.-Chatham. [As an exercise in declamation, this piece requires an energetic and spirited tone, free from mouthing, chanting, and drawling.] From the ancient connexion between Great Britain and her colonies, both parties derived the most important advantages. While the shield of our protection was extended over America, she was the fountain of our wealth, the nerve of our strength, the basis of our power. It is not, my lords, a wild and lawless banditti whom we oppose the resistance of America is the struggle of free and virtuous patriots. Let us, then, seize, with eagerness, the present moment of reconciliation. America has not yet finally given herself up to France: there yet remains a possibility of escape from the fatal effect of our delusions. In this complicated crisis of danger, weakness, and calamity, terrified and insulted by the neighbouring powers, unable to act in America, or acting only to be destroyed, where is the man who will venture to flatter us with the hope of success from perseverance in measures productive of these dire effects? Who has the effrontery to attempt it? Where is that man? Let him, if he dare, stand forward and show his face. You cannot conciliate America by your present measures: you cannot subdue her by your present, or any measures. What then can you do? You cannot conquer, you cannot gain; but you can practise address; you can lull the fears and anxieties of the moment into ignorance of the danger that should produce them. I did hope, that instead of false and empty pride, engendering high conceits, and presumptuous imaginations, ministers would have humbled themselves in their errors, would have confessed and retracted them, and, by an active, though a late repentance, have endeavoured to redeem them. But, my lords, since they have neither sagacity to foresee, nor justice or humanity to shun, those calamities;—since not even bitter experience can make them feel, nor the imminent ruin of their country awake them from their stupefaction, the guardian care of parliament must interpose. I shall therefore, my lords, propose to you an amendment to the address to his majesty. To recominend an immediate cessation of hostilities, and the commencement of a treaty to restore peace and liberty to America, strength and happiness to England, security and permanent prosperity to both countries. This, my lords, is yet in our power; and let not the wisdom and justice of your lordships neglect the happy, and, perhaps, the only opportunity. EXERCISE V.-BUNKER-HILL MONUMENT.-Webster. From the address delivered at the completion of the Bunker-Hill Monument, June 17, 1843. [The elocution of this piece is characterized by manly, energetic, and noble expression. The student must guard against a thin, high-pitched, feeble tone, as utterly inappropriate, in declaiming an extract such as this. The neglect of vocal and corporeal exercise, renders such utterance too prevalent.] A duty has been performed. A work of gratitude and patriotism is completed. This structure, having its foundations in soil which drank deep of early revolutionary blood, has at length reached its destined height, and now lifts its summit to the skies. The Bunker-Hill monument is finished. Here it stands. Fortunate in the natural eminence on which it is placed,— higher, infinitely higher, in its objects and purpose, it rises over the land, and over the sea; and visible, at their homes, to three hundred thousand citizens of Massachusetts,-it stands, a memorial of the last, and a monitor to the present, and all succeeding generations. I have spoken of the loftiness of its purpose. If it had been without any other design than the creation of a work of art, the granite, of which it is composed, would have slept in its native bed. It has a purpose; and that purpose gives it character. That purpose enrobes it with dignity and moral grandeur. That well known purpose it is, which causes us to look up to it with a feeling of awe. It is itself the orator of this occasion. It is not from my lips, it is not from any human lips, that that strain of eloquence is this day to flow, most competent to move and excite the vast multitudes around. The potent speaker stands motionless before them. It is a plain shaft. It bears no inscriptions, fronting to the rising sun, from which the future antiquarian shall wipe the dust. Nor does the rising sun cause tones of music to issue from its summit. But at the rising of the sun, and at the setting of the sun, in the blaze of noon-day, and beneath the milder effulgence of lunar light, it looks, it speaks, it acts, to the full comprehension of every American mind, and the awakening of glowing enthusiasm in every American heart. Its silent, but awful utterance; its deep pathos, as it brings to our contemplation the 17th of June, 1775, and the consequences which have resulted to us, to our country, and to the world, from the events of that day, and which we know must continue to rain influence on the destinies of mankind, to the end of time; the elevation with which it raises us high above the ordinary feelings of life; surpass all that the study of the closet, or even the inspiration of genius can produce. Today, it speaks to us. Its future auditories will be through successive generations of men, as they rise up before it, and gather round it. Its speech will be of patriotism and courage; of civil and religious liberty; of free government; of the moral improvement and elevation of mankind; and of the immortal memory of those who, with heroic devotion, have sacrificed their lives for their country. In the older world, numerous fabrics still exist, reared by human hands, but whose object has been lost, in the darkness of ages. They are now monuments of nothing, but the labour and skill which constructed them. The mighty pyramid itself, half buried in the sands of Africa, has nothing to bring down and report to us, but the power of kings, and the servitude of the people. If it had any purpose beyond that of a mausoleum, such purpose has perished from history, and from tradition. If asked for its moral object, its admonition, its sentiment, its instruction to mankind, or any high end in its erection, it is silent,—silent as the millions which lie in the dust at its base, and in the catacombs which surround it. Without a just moral object, therefore, made known to man, though raised against the skies, it excites only conviction of power, mixed with strange wonder. But if the civilization of the present race of men, founded, as it is, in solid science, the true knowledge of nature, and vast discoveries in art, and which is stimulated and purified by moral sentiment, and by the truths of Christianity, be not destined to destruction, before the final termination of human existence on earth, the object and purpose of this edifice will be known, till that hour shall come. And even if civilization should be subverted, and the truths of the Christian religion obscured by a new deluge of barbarism, the memory of Bunker Hill and the American Revolution will still be elements and parts of the knowledge, which shall be possessed by the last man to whom the light of civilization and Christianity shall be extended. EXERCISE VI.-DEATH OF DE ARGENTINE. -Scott. The scene is that of the battle of Bannockburn, in which Robert Bruce, king of Scotland, defeated the English army under king Edward. [The metre of this piece requires close attention, to keep the rhythm of the voice from falling into monotonous and mechanical chanting. It is never desirable to hear verse recited in the dry tone of prose. But, in pieces like the following, the teacher's direction to the young student, must often be, 'Keep nearer to the prose tone.'] Already scatter'd o'er the plain, Reproof, command, and counsel, vain,— In vain the royal Edward threw mid the spears, Cried Fight!' to terror and despair, Till Pembroke turned his bridle rein, Speed hence, my liege, for on your trace, God send my sovereign joy and bliss, Again he faced the battle-field, "Now then," he said, and couched his spear, My course is run,—the goal is near : One effort more, one brave career, Must close this race of mine!" And, of the bold pursuers, four And through his bloody tartans bored, |