300 712. TURKEY, ENGLAND, AND THE UNITED STATES-Kossuth. No man, aware of the value of his destiny, can live satisfied, without freedom; but he, to whom God has given freedom, has got everything; if he has the will to use his freedom for the developement of his mind and the perfection of his happiness. This is the basis, upon which your free country has become a paradise, on which the eye and the heart may rest with joy, and which must strengthen the desire of every foreigner to become likewise free. During all my life, I had but one leading idea-LIBERTY. It was the aim of my life, of my existence, to secure its blessing to my People; though I knew these blessings but instinctively. Now, I see how liberty ennobles men, and beautifies nature. How should I not, then, be doubly determined, in spite of all denger, of all difficulties, to endure, to act, to struggle, and, if need be, to die, that my People may become free? My People, whom I can say, with deep felt satisfaction, that there is no people on earth, who better deserve to be free. But, besides the bliss of liberty, there is also a glory allotted to you; and this is the proud position which you hold, not only to bear good will to those, who do not enjoy that happiness, but also, to offer the hand of friendship to their less fortunate brethren. This is indeed a great glory; for liberty raises us to the dignity of men. Being in this position, you, in your national and individual capacity, are able to carry into practical life, the divine doctrines of our Saviour:"Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." It is only thus that I can explain the grand phenomena, that so many noble-minded men, united in the love and enjoyment of freedom, can all join in the expression of their sympathy for the principles of freedom, of which they choose to consider me as an humble representative. Without liberty, there can exist no lasting social order, no field for productive labor, no personal security, and no security for property. And if it is not the aim of society, to open the fields of productive labor, to grant security to persons and property, and thus, to develop man's mind, and ennoble his heart,-if this be not the aim of human society, then I do not know what im it mankind be contented, can have. How can industrious, and happy, without freedom? But it is also not without reason, that all classes are united in sympathy, in order that that liberty, which, under different forms of government, but similar institutions, is the bliss and the pride of the English race, in both hemispheres, should likewise be allotted to other nations, to enjoy it under a government that best suits their wishes Not without reason is this and their wants. sympathy, not only because there is a moral olidarity in the destinies of nations, but also, because, where the productive power of a people, produces more than they can consume, such a country must have free intercourse, and an uninterrupted interchange of communication with the world, in order to secure the benefits of its labor, that, by the stoppage of one channel, there should arise a plethora, no less dangerous than consumption. Now, without the liberty of Europe, there is no such liberty of trade; which all despots fear, because the liberty of commerce is the great vehicle of political liberty. Freedom to trade-is only possible with freedom in Europe. It is fortunate, as well as glorious, when the material interests of a great nation are identical with the interests of the freedom of the world. This is a Providential Law. Even a single community can but enjoy welfare and security, when the interests of the whole country are in harmony with the interests of the individuals The people of Hungar, have a future, because they have vitality, and deserve to live; because their independence is necessary to the freedom of Europe. It is to the future of my country, that 712. HUNGARY'S GREAT STRUGGLES.-Kossuth. Thus they spoke, and there they swore, in calm and silent majesty, awaiting what further word might fall from my lips. And for myself, it was my duty to speak, but the grandeur of the moment, and the rushing waves of sentiment, benumbed my tongue. A burning tear fell from my eyes, a sigh of adoration to the Almighty Lord flushed my lips, and, bowing before the majesty of my people, I left the tribunal silently, speechless and mute. [Here Kossuth paused a few moments, overpowered by his emotions, and then said,] Pardon me my emotions: the shadows of our martyrs passed before my eyes; I heard the millions of my native land once more shouting-"LIBERTY! or DEATH." As I was then, so I am now: I thank you, gentlemen, for the generous sympathy, with which, in my undeserving person, you honored the bleeding, the oppressed, but not broken Hungary; and I thank you warmly for the ray of hope, which the sympathy of your people casts on the night of our fate. But the words fail me; not only for want of a knowledge of your language, but chiefly because my sentiments are deep, and ferrent, and true. The tongue of man is powerful enough to render the ideas which the human intellect conceives; but in the realm of true and deep sentimets, it is but a weak interpreter; these are inerpressible, like the end less glory of the Omnipotent! 713. INDUSTRY AND ELOQUENCE. In the ancient republics of Greece and Rome, oratory-was a necessary branch of a finished education. A much smaller proportion of the citizens were educated, than among us; but of these-a much larger number became orators. No man-could hope for distinction, or influence, and yet slight this art. The commanders of their armies-were orators, as well as soldiers, and ruled-as well by their rhetorical, as by their military skill. There was no trusting with them-as with us, to a natural facility, or the acquisition of an accidental fluency-by actual practice. But they served an apprenticeship to the art. They passed through a regular course of instruction in schools. They submitted to long, and laborious discipline. They exercised themselves frequently, both before equals, and in the presence of teachers, who criticised, reproved, rebuked, excited emulation, and left nothing undone, which art, and perseverance could accomplish. The greatest orators of antiquity, so far from being favored by natural tendencies, except indeed, in their high intellectual endowments, had to struggle against natural obstacles; and, instead of growing up, spontaneously, to their unrivalled eminence, they forced themselves forward by the most discouraging, artificial process. 714. THE FREEMAN. He is the freeman, whom the truth makes free. In feast. or in the chase, in song or dance, Demosthenes-combatted an impediment Were built, the fountains open'd, or the sea, Such, too, was the education of their other great men. They were all, according to their ability and station, orators; orators, not by nature or accident, but by education, formed in a strict process of rhetorical training; admired and followed-even while Demosthenes and Cicero were living, and unknown now, only because it is not possible that any, but the first, should survive the ordeal of ages. The inference-to be drawn from these observations is, that if so many of those, who received an accomplished education, became To-day man's dress'd in gold and silver bright, accomplished orators, because, to become so Wrapt in a shroud before to-morrow-night: was one purpose of their study; then, it is in the power of a much larger proportion among To-day he 's feeding on delicious food, us, to form themselves into creditable and ac-To-morrow dead, unable to do good! curate speakers. The inference should not be denied, until proved false by experiment. TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. To-day he 's nice, and scorns to feed on crumbs, Let this art be made an object of attention, To-day he's honor'd, and in vast esteem, and young men train themselves to it, faith-To-morrow not a beggar values him; fully, and long; and if any of competent talents and tolerable science be found, at last, To-day his house, tho' large, he thinks but small, incapable of expressing themselves in con-To-morrow no command, no house at all; tinued, and connected discourse, so as to answer the ends of public speaking, then, and not fill then, let it be said, that a peculiar talent, or natural aptitude-is requisite, the want of which must render effort vain: then, and not fill then, let us acquiesce in this indolent, and timorous notion, which contradicts the whole testimony of antiquity, and all the experience of the world.-- Wirl. To-day has forty servants at his gate, dictating peace on a raft to the czar of Russia i contemplating defeat--at the gallows of Leipsighe was still the same military despot! 715. CHARACTER OF BONAPARTE. He is fallen! We may now pause--before that In this wonderful comb.nat on. his affectations splendid prodigy, which towered amongst us, like some ancient ruin, whose frown-terrified the of literature must not be omitted. The jailerglance its magnificence attracted. Grand, gloomy of the press, he affected the patronage of letters; and peculiar. he sat upon the throne a sceptred the proscriber of books, he encouraged philosohermit, wrapt-in the solitude of his own ori-phy-the persecutor of authors, and the murderer ginality. A mind, bold, independent. and decis- of printers, he yet pretended to the protection of ive-a will, despotic in its dictates-an energy, learning! the assassin of Palm, the s lencer of that distanced expedition, and a conscience-plia- De Stael, and the denouncer of Kotzebue, he was ble to every touch of interest, marked the outline the friend of David, the benefactor of De Lille, of this extraordinary character,-the most extra- and sent his academic prize to the philosopher of ordinary, perhaps, that in the annals of this world, England. Such a medley of contradictions. and at the same time such an individual consistency, ever rose, or reigned, or fell. Flung into life, in the midst of a revolut on. that quickened every were never united in the same character. A royalist-a republ can, and an emperor-a Moenergy of a people who acknowledge no superior, he commenced his course, a stranger by birth,hammedan-a catholic and a patron of the syna and a scholar by charity! With no friend, but gogue-a subaltern and a sovereign-a traitor his sword, and no fortune, but his talents, he and a tyrant-a christian and an infidel-he was, rushed in the list-where rank, and wealth. and through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, im genius-had arrayed themselves, and competi incomprehensible self-the man-without a modLion-fled from him, as from the glance of desti-patient, inflexible or gnal-the same mysterious, ny. He knew no motive, but interest-he ac-el, and without a shadow.-Phillips. knowledged no criterion. but success--he wor716. THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE. Pause, shiped no God, but ambition, and, with an eastern devotion, he knelt at the shrine of his idolatry. for a while, ye travelers on the earth, to conSubsidiary to this, there was no creed, that he template the universe, in which you dwell, did not profess, there was no opinion, that he did and the glory of him, who created it. What not promulgate; in the hope of a dynasty, he up- a scene of wonders-is here presented to held the crescent; for the sake of a divorce, he your view! If beheld with a religious eye, bowed before the cross: the orphan of St. Louis, what a temple-for the worship of the Alhe became the adopted child of the republic: and mighty! The earth is spread out before you, with a parricidal ingratitude, on the ruins-both reposing amidst the desolation of winter, or of the throne, and tribune, he reared the throne clad in the verdure of spring-smiling in of his despotism. A professed catholic, he un- the beauty of summer, or loaded with autum prisoned the pope; a pretended patriot, he impov-nal fruit;--opening to an endless variety of erished the country; and in the name of Brutus, beings-the treasures of their Maker's goodhe grasped, without remorse, and wore, without shame, the diadem of the Cesars! Through thisness, and ministering subsistence, and compantomine of policy, fortune played the clown to fort to every creature, that lives. The heavhis caprices. At his touch, crowns crumbled, beg- ens, also, declare the glory of the Lord. The gars reigned, systems van shed, the wildest theo- sun cometh forth from his chambers-to scatries took the color of his whim, and all that was ter the shades of night-inviting you to the venerable, and all that was novel, changed pla- renewal of your labors-adorning the face ces with the rapidity of a drama. Even appa- of nature-and, as he advances to his merirent defeat-assumed the appearance of victory-dian brightness, cherishing every herb, and his light from Egypt confirmed his destiny-ruin every flower, that springeth from the bosom itself-only elevated him to empire. But if his of the earth. Nor, when he retires again fortune was great, his genius was transcendent; from your view, doth he leave the Creator decision-flashed upon his councils; and it was without a witness. He only hides his own the same to decide-and to perform. To inferior intellects-his combinations appeared perfectly splendor, for a while, to disclose to you a impossible. his plans perfectly impracticable; but, more glorious scene-to show you the imin his hands simplicity-marked their develop mensity of space, filled with worlds unnumment. and success--vindicated their adoption. bered, that your imaginations may wander, His person--partook of the character of his mind; without a limit, in the vast creation of God. if the one-never yielded in the cabinet, the oth er-never bent in the field. Nature-had no obstacle, that he did not surmount, space-no opposition, that he did not spurn; and whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or Polar snows, he seemed proof against peril, and empowered with ubiquity! The whole continent-trembled-at beholding the audacity of his designs. and the miracle of their execution. Scepticism-bowed to the prodigies of his performance; romance-pondence between these great objects, and assumed the air of history; nor was there aught too incredible for belief, or too fanciful--for expectation, when the world-saw a subaltern of Corsica-waving his imperial flag--over her most ancient capitals. All the visions of antiquity-| became commonplaces in his contemplation; kings were his people-nations were his outposts; and he disposed of courts, and crowns, and cumps, and churches, and cabinets, as if they titular dign taries of the chess-board! Amid all these changes, he stood-iummutable were What a field is here opened, for the exer cise of every pious emotion! and how irresistibly do such contemplations as these, awaken the sensibility of the soul! Here, is infinite power-to impress you with awehere is infinite wisdom-to fill you with admiration-here is infinite goodness-to call forth your gratitude, and love. The corres the affect ons of the human heart, is estab lished by nature itself; and they need only to be placed before us, that every religious feeling may be excited.-Moo lie There is so great a fever in goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it: novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough to make It mattered little, whether in the field, or in the fellowships accursed; much upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This drawing-room-with the mob, or the leveenews is old enough, yet it is every day's cobi bonnet, or the iron crownusing a Braganza, o espousing a Hapsburg-news.--Shakspeare. as adamant. 718. THUNDER STORM ON THE ALPS. 719. MATERNAL AFFECTION. Woman's It is the hush of night; and all between [clear, charms are certainly many and powerful. Thy margin, and the mountains, dusk, yet ty, has an irresistible bewitchingness; the The expanding rose, just bursting into beauMellow'd, and mingling, yet distinctly seen, blooming bride, led triumphantly to the hySave darkened Jura, whose capped heights ap-meneal altar, awakens admiration and interPrecipitously steep; and drawing near, [pear There breathes-a living fragrance from the shore, [ear, Of flowers-yet fresh with childhood; on the Drops the light drip of the suspended oar. [more. Urhirps the grasshopper-one good-night carol He is an evening reveller, who makes His life-an infancy, and sings his fill! At intervals, some bird-from out the brakesStarts into voice, a moment, then, is still. There seems a floating whisper, on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently, their tears of love insti 1, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse, Deep into Nature's breast, the spirit of her hues. The sky is changed! and such a change! O night, [strong And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder! not from one lone cloud: But every mountain-now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! And this is in the night: Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! Let me be A sharer in thy fierce, and far delight, A portion of the tempest, and of thee! How the lit lake shines! a phosphoric sea! And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again-'tis black, and now, the glee Of the loud hills-shakes with its mountainmirth, [birth. As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's Now, where the swift Rhone-cleaves his way [parted between hearted! Heights which appear as lovers, who have In hate, whose mining depths-so intervene, That they can meet no more, though broken[thwarted, Though in their souls, which thus each other Love was the very root-of the fond rage, Which blighted their life's bloom, and then, departed! Itself expired, but leaving them an age [wage! Of years, all winters! war-within themselves to Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, (stand: The mightiest of the storms hath takeh hs For here, not one, but many, make their play, And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand, Flashing and cast around! of all the band. The brightest through these parted hills hath His lightnings, as if he did understand. [forked That in such gaps as desolation worked. There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurked.-Byron. Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest, And Heaven-beholds its image-in his breast. est, and the blush of her cheek fills with delight ;--but the charm of maternity, is more sublime than all these. Heaven has imprinted, in the mother's face, which claims kindred with the skies.--the something beyond this world, something angelic smile, the tender look, the waking. watchful eye, which keeps its fond vigil over her slumbering babe. These are objects, which neither the pencil nor the chisel, can touch, which poetry fails to exalt, which the most eloquent tongue, in vain, would eulogize, and on which all description becomes ineffective. In the heart of man lies this lovely picture; it lives in his sympathies: it reigns in his allections; his eye looks around in vain for such another object on earth. Maternity, extatic sound! so twined round our hearts, that they must cease to throb, ere we forget it! 'tis our first love; 'tis part of our religion. Nature has set the mother upon such a pinnacle, that our infant eyes, and arms, are first uplifted to it; we cling to it in manhood; we almost worship it in old age. He, who can enter an apartment, and behold the tender babe, feeding on its mother's beauty--nourished by the tide of life, which flows through the generous veins, without a panting bosom and a grateful eye, is no man, but a monster. 720. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again, thou usher'st in the day, My Mary, from my soul was torn. O. Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover, lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans, that rend his breast That sacred hour-can I forget, Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where, by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love! Eternity-will not efface Those records dear, of transports past; Thy image, at our last embrace' Ah! little thought we, 'twas our last! Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene. Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. Where is thy place of blissful rest 1 721. RICHARD. Now is the winter-of our discontent- Our bruised arms-hung up for monuments: And now-instead of mounting barbed steeds, I, that am curtail'd-of this fair proportion, 722. THE REJECTED. Not have me! Not love me! Oh, what have I Sure, never was lover so strangely misled. [said? Rejected and just when I hoped to be blessed! You can't be in earnest! It must be a jest. Remember-remember how often I've knelt, Explicitly telling you all that I felt, Remember you've worn them; and just can it be I don't mean my gifts-but you will break my Not bank notes-no, truly, I had none to send! But, madam, you are not worth fighting about; He comes not I have watched the moon go down, I would, with kindness, all my wrongs repay, And talked about poison, in accents so wild, then unperceived; and through what seemed a blank and impenetrable wall,--the barrier to all further progress.--a door is thrown open into some before unexplored hall in the sacred temple of truth. The multitude rushes in, and wonders that the portals could have remained concealed so long. When a brilliant discovery or invention is proclaimed, men are astonished to think how long they had lived on its confines, without penetrating its nature. |