he had traced them on the tables of their hearts. The poor child of nature knew not the God of revelation, but the God of the universe he acknowledged in everything around.

He beheld him in the star that sunk in beauty behind his lonely dwelling; in the sacred orb that flamed on him from his mid-day throne; in the flower that snapped in the morning breeze; in the lofty pine, that defied a thousand whirlwinds; in the timid warbler, that never left its native grove; in the fearless eagle, whose untired pinion was wet in clouds; in the worm that crawled at his feet; and in his own matchless form, glowing with a spark of that light, to whose mysterious source he bent, in humble, though blind adoration.

And all this has passed away. Across the ocean came a pilgrim bark, bearing the seeds of life and death. The former were sown for you; the latter sprang up in the path of the simple native. Two hundred years have changed the character of a great continent, and blotted forever, from its face, a whole peculiar people. Art has usurped the bowers of nature, and the anointed children of education have been too powerful for the tribes of the ignorant.

Here and there, a stricken few remain: but how unlike their bold, untamed, untamable progenitors! The Indian, of falcon glance, and lion bearing, the theme of the touching ballad, the hero of the pathetic tale, is gone! and his degraded offspring crawl upon the soil where he walked in majesty, to remind us how miserable is man when the foot of the conqueror is on his neck.

As a race, they have withered from the land. Their arrows are broken, their springs are dried up, their cabins are in the dust. Their council-fire has long since gone out on the shore, and their war-cry is fast dying to the untrodden west. Slowly and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and read their doom in the setting sun. They are shrinking before the mighty tide which is pressing them away; they must soon hear the roar of the last wave which will settle over them forever

EXERCISE VI.

ADERESS OF BRUTUS, JUSTIFYING HIS ASSASSINATION OF
CÆSAR.

ROMANS, Countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my cause; and be silent that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor; and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom; and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Cæsar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Cæsar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Cæsar, this is my answer, -- not that I loved Cæsar less, but that I loved Rome more.

Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves, than that Cæsar were dead, to live all freemen? As Cæsar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears, for his love; joy, for his fortune; honor, for his valor; and death, for his ambition. Who's here so base, that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who's here so rude, that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who's here so vile, that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.

None! Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Cæsar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the capitol; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death.

--

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying- a place in the commonwealth; as which of you shall not? With this I depart; that, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself. when it shall please my country to need my death.

EXERCISE VII.

ONE CENTURY AFTER WASHINGTON.

GENTLEMEN, we are at the point of a century from the birth of Washington; and what a century it has been! During its course, the human mind has seemed to proceed with a sort of geometric velocity, accomplishing, for human intelligence, and human freedom, more than had been done in fives or tens of centuries preceding. Washington stands at the commencement of a new era, as well as at the head of a new world. A century from the birth of Washington has changed the world. The country of Washington has been the theatre on which a great part of that change has been wrought; and Washington himself a principal agent by which it has been accomplished. His age and his country are equally full of wonders! and of both he is the chief.

Washington had attained his manhood when that spark of liberty was struck out in his own country, which has since kindled into a flame, and shot its beams over the earth. In the flow of a century from his birth, the world has changed in science, in arts, in the extent of commerce, in the improvement of navigation, and in all that relates to the civilization of man. But it is the spirit of human freedom, the new elevation of individual man, in his moral, social, and political character, leading the whole long train of other improvements, which has most remarkably distinguished the era.

It has assumed a new character; it has raised itself from beneath governments to a participation in governments; it has mixed moral and political objects with the daily pursuits of individual men; and, with a freedom and strength before altogether unknown, it has applied to these objects the whole power of the human understanding. It has been the era, in short, when the social principle has triumphed over the feudal principle; when society has maintained its rights against military power, and established, on foundations never hereafter to be shaken, its competency to govern itself

EXERCISE VIII.

THE CONTRAST.

TURN your eyes upon ancient Athens, the boast and pride of history: there you will behold, on all sides, vast monuments of taste, genius, and elegance. Look also at imperial Rome-I mean as she stood in all her greatness and glory; - you see the majesty of the human intellect unfolded, you see her temples, her palaces, and her monuments of wealth and power. But do you see any hospitals for the sick?-any asylums for the deaf and the dumb, the blind and the aged, the fatherless and the widow, or any for the outcast of the land? The whole empire shows not one.

How, then, will those renowned cities of the olden world and olden times compare with some of the modern towns of the new world? Look at Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore; look even at many of the little villages in this new country. In these you may see temples and monuments of art and taste; but do you not, also, see hospitals, infirmaries, asylums, poorhouses, bettering-houses, refuge places, penitentiaries, quiet retreats, and snug harbors, open for the reception of every condition of suffering humanity?

What has caused this broad difference between those

old cities and our young towns? between the people of the East, and the people of the West?-between ancient times, and modern times? The Athenians were a splendid people, learned in laws, philosophy, and the sciences; but they were a pagan people; they worshipped a host of gods and goddesses, whose very names are too ridiculous to be recorded.

The Romans, in their primitive state, had no higher objects of veneration than the Athenians; and besides this, they were learned only in the arts of war, and the means of human destruction. And even when a pure religion struggled to the ascendency in the empire, it was soon corrupted to the most gross and licentious purposes. Even down to the present period, the senseless rites and images mingled with it dishonor the name of

religion; they mock the sanctity of its professors, and rest, like an incubus, upon the spirits of millions.

The same religion in the new world, preserved in its pristine purity, and honored in its efficacy, has put a new face on all that belongs to life. It heals dissensions; loves peace and good will to men; beats the sword into pruning hooks; spreads over the face of the world the works of benevolence; rears monuments of charity; delights in deeds of kindness, and constant y seeks the happiness of all.

EXERCISE IX.

NATIONAL CHARACTER.

THE loss of a firm national character, or the degrada tion of a nation's honor, is the inevitable prelude to her destruction. Behold the once proud fabric of a Roman empire, an empire carrying its arts and arms intc every part of the eastern continent; the monarchs of mighty kingdoms dragged at the wheels of her triumphal chariots; her eagle waving over the ruins of desolated countries. Where is her splendor, her wealth, her power, her glory? Extinguished forever. Her mouldering temples, the mournful vestiges of her former grandeur, afford a shelter to her muttering monks. Where are her statesmen, her sages, her philosophers, her orators, her generals? Go to their solitary tombs and inquire. She lost her national character, and her destruction followed. The ramparts of her national pride were broken down, and Vandalism desolated her classic fields.

Such, the warning voice of antiquity, the example of all republics, proclaim may be our fate. But let us no longer indulge these gloomy anticipations. The commencement of our liberty presages the dawn of a brighter period to the world. That bold, enterprising spirit, which conducted our heroes to peace and safety, and gave us a lofty rank amid the empires of the world, still animates the bosoms of their descendants. Look back to that moment when they unbarred the dungeons of the slave and dashed his fetters to the earth; when the sword of a Washington leaped from its scabbard to