ページの画像
PDF
ePub

of the orator are immediate; his influence is instantly felt;
his, and his alone, it is,

"The applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read his history in a nation's eyes."

"I can conceive," says Cicero, "of no accomplishment more to be desired than to be able to captivate the affections, charm the understanding, and direct or restrain, at pleasure, the will of whole assemblies." This single art, amongst every free people, has commanded every encouragement and been attended with the most surprising effects; for what can be more astonishing than that from an immense multitude one man should come forth, the only, or almost the only, man who can do what nature has made attainable by all? Or, can any thing impart to the ears and the understanding a pleasure so pure as a discourse which at once delights by its elocution, enlists the passions by its rhetoric, and carries captive the conviction by its logic.

What triumph more noble and magnificent than that of the eloquence of one man swaying the inclinations of the people, the consciences of judges, and the majesty of senates? Nay, farther: can aught be esteemed so grand, so generous, so public-spirited, as to relieve the suppliant, to raise up the prostrate, to communicate happiness, to avert danger, to save a fellow-citizen from exile and wrong? Can aught be more desirable than to have always ready those weapons with which we can at once defend the weak, assail the profligate, and redress our own or our country's injuries?

Apart from the utility of this art in the forum, the rostrum, the senate, and on the bench, can any thing, in retirement from business, be more delightful, more socially endearing, than a language and elocution agreeable and polished on every subject? For the great characteristic of

1

our nature, that which distinguishes us from brutes, is our capacity of social intercourse, our ability to convey our ideas by words. Ought it not, then, to be pre-eminently our study to excel mankind in that very faculty which constitutes their superiority over brutes?

Upon the eloquence and spirit of an accomplished orator may often depend, not only his own dignity, but the welfare of a government; nay, of a people. Go on, then, ye who would attain this inestimable art. Ply the study you have in hand, pursue it with singleness of purpose, at once for your own honor, for the advantage of your friends, and for the service of your country.

LI.—TRUE FAITH.

OLD Reuben Fisher, who lived in the lane,
Was never in life disposed to complain;

If the weather proved fair, he thanked God for the sun,
And if it were rainy, with him 't was all one;
"I have just the weather I fancy," said he,
"For what pleases God always satisfies me."

If trouble assailed, his brow was ne'er dark,
And his eye never lost its happiest spark.
"Twill not better fix it to gloom or to sigh,
To make the best of it I always shall try!
So, Care, do your worst," said Reuben with glee,
“And which of us conquers, we shall see, we shall see."

If his children were wild, as children will prove,
His temper ne'er lost its warm aspect of love;
"My dear wife," he'd say, "don't worry nor fret;
"Twill all be right with the wayward ones yet;
'Tis the folly of youth that must have its way;
They'll penitent turn from their evil some day."
If a name were assailed, he would cheerily say:
"Well, well; we'll not join in the cry, any way;
There are always two sides to every tale,

And the true one at last is sure to prevail;
There is an old rule that I learned when a lad,—
'Deem every one good till he's proved to be bad.”

And when in the meshes of sin tightly bound,
The reckless and luckless poor mortal was found,
Proscribed, too, by every woman and man,
And put under rigid and merciless ban,

Old Reuben would say, with kind sympathy fraught,
"We none of us do half as well as we ought."

If friends waxed cold, he'd say with a smile—
"Well, if they must go, Heaven bless them the while;
We walked a sweet path till the crossing ways met;
And though we have parted, I'll cherish them yet;
They'll go by their way and I'll go by mine-
Perhaps in the city ahead we shall join."

There were sickness and death at last in his cot,
But still Reuben Fisher in sorrow blenched not:
"'Tis the Father afflicts, let him do what he will;
What comes from his hand can mean us no ill;
I cheerfully give back the blessings he lent,
And through faith in the future find present content."

Then he lay on his death-bed at last, undismayed;
No terror had death at which he was afraid;
"Living or dying, 'tis all well with me,
For God's will is my will," submissive said he.
And so Reuben died, with his heart full of grace,
That beamed in a smile on his time-furrowed face.
-B. P. Shillaber.

LII.-LIGHT.

LIGHT is presented to us in ever-varying conditions, but it is always the same-there is a oneness in its essence after all. It is the same light that glistens on the wing of the fire-fly, and blazes on the ruddy hearth-stone, and sparkles

on the jewels in the diadem, and flashes in beauty in the morning. Science tells us that those prolific beds of coal in the bowels of the earth were once forests on the surfaceforests of luxuriant vegetation; that they incorporated the sun's rays, and then, in merciful convulsions, were imbedded in the center of the lower earth by an all-provident foresight for the wants of an inhabited world. Science tells us, too, that time was when the shapeless crystal was yet new to the covering of the earth. Subjected to the wheel of the lapidary, it sparkles out to view as a gem of the first water. It is but the release of the imprisoned rays which shone from the same great source long centuries ago; so that, in both the cottage fire-light and in the monarch's gem, we have just the resurrection of some olden summer—the great return of some sepulchral sunlight, from which man has rolled away the stone.

DRUNKENNESS.

FLY drunkenness, whose vile incontinence
Takes both away the reason and the sense!
Till with Circæan cups thy mind possest,
Leaves to be man, and wholly turns a beast.
Think while thou swallow'st the capacious bowl,
Thou let'st in seas to sack and drown thy soul.
That hell is open, to remembrance call,
And think how subject drunkards are to fall.
Consider how it soon destroys the grace
Of human shape, spoiling the beauteous face,
Puffing the cheeks, blearing the curious eye,
Studding the face with vicious heraldry.
What pearls and rubies does the wine disclose,
Making the purse poor to enrich the nose!
How does it nurse disease, infect the heart,
Drawing some sickness into every part.
It weaks the brain, it spoils the memory,
Hasting on age and willful poverty;

It drowns thy better parts, making thy name

K. N. E.-19.

To foes a laughter, to thy friends a shame;
'Tis virtue's poison and the bane of trust,
The match of wrath, the fuel unto lust.
Quite leave this vice, and turn not to't again
Upon presumption of a stronger brain.
For he that holds more wine than others can,
I rather count a hogshead than a man.

-Randolph.

LIII.-PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE.

VOYAGER upon life's sea,

To yourself be true;

And where'er your lot may be,

Paddle your own canoe.

Never, though the winds may rave,

Falter nor look back,
But upon the darkest wave

Leave a shining track.

Nobly dare the wildest storm,

Stem the hardest gale,

Brave of heart and strong of arm,

You will never fail.

When the world is cold and dark,
Keep an end in view,
And toward the beacon mark,

Paddle your own canoe.

Every wave that bears you on

To the silent shore,

From its sunny source has gone

To return no more:

Then let not an hour's delay

Cheat you of your due;
But while it is called to-day,
Paddle your own canoe.

If your birth denied you wealth,
Lofty state, and power,

« 前へ次へ »