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absolutely incalculable; and such a work, you are aware, is the Iliad of Homer. Who can estimate the results produced by this incomparable effort of a single mind! Who can tell what Greece owes to this first-born of song! Her breathing marbles, her solemn temples, her unrivalled eloquence, and her matchless verse, all point us to that transcendent genius, who, by the very splendour of his own effulgence, woke the human intellect from the slumber of ages.

It was Homer, who gave laws to the artist; it was Homer, who inspired the poet; it was Homer, who thundered in the senate; and more than all, it was Homer, who was sung by the people; and hence a nation was cast into the mould of one mighty mind, and the land of the Iliad became the region of taste, the birth-place of the arts. Nor was this influence confined within the limits of Greece. Long after the sceptre of empire had passed westward, genius still held her court on the banks of the Ilyssus, and from the country of Homer gave laws to the world.

The light, which the blind old man of Scio had kindled in Greece, shed its radiance over Italy; and thus did he awaken a second nation to intellectual existence. And we may form some idea of the power, which this one work has to the present day exerted over the mind of man, by remarking, that'nation after nation, and century after century, has been able to do little more than transpose his incidents, new name his characters, and paraphrase his sentiments.'

But, considered simply as an intellectual production, who will compare the poems of Homer with the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testament? Where in the Iliad shall we find simplicity and pathos, which shall vie with the narrative of Moses, or maxims of conduct to equal in wisdom the Proverbs of Solomon, or sublimity, which does not fade away before the conceptions of Job, or David, of Isaiah, or St John.

But I cannot pursue this comparison. I feel that it is doing wrong to the mind, which dictated the Iliad, and to those other mighty intellects, on whom the light of the holy oracles never shined. Who, that has read his poem, has not observed how he strove in vain to give dignity to the mythology of his time? Who has not seen how the religion of his country, unable to support the flight of his imagination, sunk powerless beneath him?

It is the unseen world, where the master spirits of our

race breathe freely, and are at home; and it is mournful to behold the intellect of Homer striving to free itself from the conceptions of materialism, and then sinking down in hopeless despair, to weave idle fables about Jupiter and Juno, Apollo or Diana. But the difficulties, under which he laboured, are abundantly illustrated by the fact, that the light, which he poured upon the human intellect, taught other ages how unworthy was the religion of his day of the man, who was compelled to use it. It seems to me,' says Longinus,' that Homer, when he ascribes dissensions, jealousies, tears, imprisonments, and other afflictions to his deities, hath, as much as was in his power, made the men of the Iliad gods, and the gods men. To man, when afflicted, death is the termination of evils; but he hath made not only the nature, but the miseries of the gods eternal.'

If, then, so great results have flowed from this one effort of a single mind, what may we not expect from the combined efforts of several, at least his equals in power over the human heart? If that one genius, though groping in the thick darkness of absurd idolatry, wrought so glorious a transformation in the character of his countrymen, what may we not look for from the universal dissemination of those writings, on whose authors was poured the full splendour of eternal truth? If unassisted human nature, spell-bound by a childish mythology, have done so much, what may we not hope for, from the supernatural efforts of pre-eminent genius, which spake as it was moved by the Holy Ghost?

ZANGA'S REASONS FOR HATING ALONZO.—Young.

'Tis twice five years since that great man
(Great let me call him, for he conquered me,)
Made me the captive of his arm in fight.
He slew my father, and threw chains o'er me,
While I, with pious rage, pursued revenge
I then was young; he placed me near his person,
And thought me not dishonoured by his service.
One day, (may that returning day be night,
The stain, the curse of each succeeding year!)
For something, or for nothing, in his pride
He struck me (while I tell it, do I live?)
He smote me on the cheek!-I did not stab him:
That were poor revenge.-E'er since, his folly

Has striven to bury it beneath a heap
Of kindnesses, and thinks it is forgot:
Insolent thought, and like a second blow!
Has the dark adder venom? So have I,

When trod upon. Proud Spaniard, thou shalt feel me !
By nightly march he purposed to surprise
The Moorish camp; but I have taken care
They shall be ready to receive his favour.
Failing in this, (a cast of utmost moment,)
Would darken all the conquests he has won.-
Be propitious, O Mahomet, on this important hour;
And give, at length, my famished soul revenge!

DIONYSIUS TO HIS SOLDIERS.—Murphy.

YE brave associates, who so oft have shared
Our toil and danger in the field of glory,
My fellow-warriours, what no god would promise,
Fortune has given us. In his dark embrace,
Lo! sleep envelopes the whole Grecian camp.
Against a foe, the outcasts of their country,
Freebooters, roving in pursuit of prey,
Success, by war or covert stratagem,
Alike is glorious. Then, my gallant friends,
What need of words? The generous call of freedom,
Your wives, your children, your invaded rights,
All that can steel the patriot breast with valour,
Expands and rouses in the swelling heart.
Follow the impulsive ardour; follow me,
Your king, your leader in the friendly gloom
Of night assault their camp: your country's love
And fame eternal shall attend the men,

Who marched through blood and horrour, to redeem
From the invader's power, their native land.—
Unnumbered torches blazing all at once,

Shall be the signal of the deathful charge.

Then, oh my friends,

On every side let the wild uproar loose:
Bid massacre and carnage stalk around,
Unsparing, unrelenting; drench your swords
In hostile blood, and riot in destruction.

LORD LITTLETON'S SPEECH ON THE REPEAL OF THE ACT ENTITLED THE JEW BILL.

SIR,-It has been hitherto the rare and envied felicity of his Majesty's reign, that his subjects have enjoyed such settled tranquillity, such a freedom from angry religious disputes, as is not to be paralleled in any former times. The true Christian spirit of moderation, of charity, of universal benevolence, has prevailed in the people, has prevailed in the clergy of all ranks and degrees, instead of those narrow principles, those bigoted pleasures, that furious, that implacable, that ignorant zeal, which has often done so much hurt both to the church and the state.

But from the ill understood, insignificant act of parliament you are now moved to repeal, occasion has been taken to deprive us of this inestimable advantage. It is a pretence, to disturb the peace of the church, to infuse idle fear into the minds of the people, and make religion itself an engine of sedition.-It behoves the piety, as well as the wisdom of parliament, to disappoint those endeavours. Sir, the very worst mischief that can be done to religion, is to pervert it to the purposes of faction. The most impious wars ever made were those called holy wars. He, who hates another man for not being a Christian, is himself not a Christian. Christianity, Sir, breathes love, and peace, and good-will to man. A temper, conformable to the dictates of that holy religion, has lately distinguished this nation; and a glorious distinction it was! But there is latent, at all times, in the minds of the vulgar, a spark of enthusiasm; which if blown by the breath of a party, may, even when it seems quite extinguished, be suddenly revived and raised to a flame. The act of last session for naturalizing Jews, has very unexpectedly administered fuel to feed this flame. To what a height it may rise, if it should continue much longer, one cannot easily tell; but, take away the fuel, and it will die of itself.

Sir, I trust and believe that, by speedily passing this bill, we shall silence that obloquy, which has so unjustly been cast upon our reverend prelates, for the part they took in the act which this repeals. And it greatly concerns the

further step you can take, will be able to remove it. This appears to be a reasonable and safe condescension, by which nobody will be hurt; but all beyond this would be dangerous weakness in government: it might open a door to the wildest enthusiasm, and to the most mischievous attacks of political disaffection working upon that enthusi

asm.

If you encourage and authorize it to fall on the synagogue, it will go from thence to the meeting-house, and in the end to the palace. But let us be careful to check its further progress. The more zealous we are to support Christianity, the more vigilant should we be in maintaining toleration. If we bring back persecution, we bring back the anti-christian spirit of popery; and when the spirit is here, the whole system will soon follow. Toleration is the basis of all public quiet. It is a charter of freedom given to the mind, more valuable than that which secures our persons and estates. Indeed, they are inseparably connected together; for, where the mind is not free, where the conscience is enthralled, there is no freedom,

SPEECH OF A CREEK INDIAN IN A COUNCIL OF HIS NATION, AGAINST THE USE OF SPIRITUOUS LIQUORS.

I Do not stand up, O countrymen! to propose the plans of war, or to direct the wisdom of this assembly in the regulation of our alliances. My intention is to open to your view, a subject not less worthy of your deliberate notice.

I perceive the eye of this asssembly dwells upon me.— Oh! may every heart be unveiled from its prejudices, and receive the disinterested, the pious, the filial obedience I owe to my country; when I step forth to be the accuser of my brethren :-not of treachery; not of cowardice; not of deficiency in the noblest of all passions, the love of the public: these, I glory in boasting, are incompatible with the character of a Creek.

The tyrant I arraign before you, O Creeks! is no native of our soil, but a lurking miscreant, an emissary of the evil principle of darkness.-'T is that pernicious liquid, which our pretended white friends artfully introduced, and so plentifully pour in amongst us.

Tremble, O ye Creeks! when I thunder in your ears this denunciation,-that if the cup of perdition continue to

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