&&000 I. ANECDOTE OF THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE.
&&111

A laughable story was circulated during the administration of the old Duke
of =Newcastle, and retailed to the public in various forms. This nobleman,
with many good points, was remarkable for being profuse of his promises on
all occasions, and valued himself particularly on being able to anticipate
the words or the wants of the various persons who attended his levees,
before they uttered a word. This sometimes led him into ridiculous
embarrassment; and it was this proneness to lavish promises, which gave
occasion for the following anecdote:

At the election of a certain borough in =Cornwall, where the opposite
interests were almost equally poised, a single vote was of the highest
importance. This object the Duke, by well applied argument and personal
application, at length attained; and the gentleman he recommended, gained
the election. In the warmth of gratitude, his grace poured forth
acknowledgments and promises without ceasing, on the fortunate possessor
of the casting vote; called him his best and dearest friend; protested,
that he should consider himself as forever indebted to him; and that he
would serve him by night or by day.

The =Cornish voter, who was an honest fellow, and would not have thought
himself entitled to any reward, but for such a torrent of acknowledgments,
thanked the Duke for his kindness, and told him the supervisor of excise
was old and infirm, and, if he would have the goodness to recommend his
son-in-law to the commissioners, in case of the old man's death, he should
think himself and his family bound to render his grace every assistance in
their power, on any future occasion.

"My dear friend, why do you ask for such a trifling employment," exclaimed
his grace; "your relative shall have it the moment the place is vacant, if
you will but call my attention to it?"

"But how shall I get admitted to you, my lord? For in =London, I
understand, it is a very difficult business to get a sight of you great
folks, though you are so kind and complaisant to us in the country."

"The instant the man dies," replied the Duke, "set out posthaste for
=London; drive directly to my house, and, be it by night or by day, thunder
at the door; I will leave word with my porter to show you upstairs
directly; and the employment shall be disposed of according to your
wishes."

The parties separated; the Duke drove to a friend's house in the
neighborhood, without a wish or desire to see his new acquaintance till
that day seven years; but the memory of the =Cornish elector, not being
burdened with such a variety of objects, was more retentive. The
supervisor died a few months after, and the Duke's humble friend, relying
on the word of a peer, was conveyed to =London posthaste, and ascended with
alacrity the steps of that nobleman's palace.

The reader should be informed, that just at this time, no less a person
than the King of =Spain was expected hourly to depart this life, an event
in which the minister of =GreatBritain was particularly concerned; and the
Duke of =Newcastle, on the very night that the proprietor of the decisive
vote arrived at his door, had sat up anxiously expecting dispatches from
=Madrid. Wearied by official business and agitated spirits, he retired to
rest, having previously given particular instructions to his porter not to
go to bed, as he expected every minute a messenger with advices of the
greatest importance, and desired that he might be shown upstairs, the
moment of his arrival.

His grace was sound asleep; and the porter, settled for the night in his
armchair, had already commenced a sonorous nap, when the vigorous arm of
the =Cornish voter roused him from his slumbers. To his first question, "Is
the Duke at home" the porter replied, "Yes, and in bed; but has left
particular orders that, come when you will, you are to go up to him
directly?"

"Bless him, for a worthy and honest gentleman," cried our applicant for
the vacant post, smiling and nodding with approbation at the prime
minister's kindness, "how punctual his grace is; I knew he would not
deceive me; let me hear no more of lords and dukes not keeping their
words; I verily believe they are as honest, and mean as well as any other
folks." Having ascended the stairs as he was speaking, he was ushered into
the Duke's bedchamber.

"Is he dead," exclaimed his grace, rubbing his eyes, and scarcely awakened
from dreaming of the King of Spain, "Is he dead?"

"Yes, my lord," replied the eager expectant, delighted to find the
election promise, with all its circumstances, so fresh in the nobleman's
memory.

"When did he die?"

"The day before yesterday, exactly at half past one o'clock, after being
confined three weeks to his bed, and taking a power of doctor's stuff; and
I hope your grace will be as good as your word, and let my son-in-law
succeed him."

The Duke, by this time perfectly awake, was staggered at the impossibility
of receiving intelligence from =Madrid in so short a space of time; and
perplexed at the absurdity of a king's messenger applying for his
son-in-law to succeed the King of =Spain: "Is the man drunk, or mad? Where
are your dispatches," exclaimed his grace, hastily drawing back his
curtain; where, instead of a royal courier, he recognized at the bedside,
the fat, good-humored countenance of his friend from =Cornwall, making low
bows, with hat in hand, and "hoping my lord would not forget the gracious
promise he was so good as to make, in favor of his son-in-law, at the last
election?"

Vexed at so untimely a disturbance, and disappointed of news from =Spain,
the Duke frowned for a moment; but chagrin soon gave way to mirth, at so
singular and ridiculous a combination of circumstances, and, yielding to
the impulse, he sunk upon the bed in a violent fit of laughter, which was
communicated in a moment to the attendants.

The relater of this little narrative, concludes, with observing, "Although
the Duke of =Newcastle could not place the relative of his old acquaintance
on the throne of His Catholic Majesty, he advanced him to a post not less
honorable--he made him an exciseman."




&&000 XV. A POLITICAL PAUSE. (102)
&&111

=CharlesJamesFox, =1749-=1806, a famous =English orator and statesman, was
the son of Hon =HenryFox, afterward Lord =Holland; he was also a lineal
descendant of =Charles =II of =England and of =Henry =IV, of =France. He
received his education at =Westminster, =Eton, and =Oxford, but left the
University without graduating. He was first elected to Parliament before
he was twenty years old. During the =American Revolution, he favored the
colonies; later, he was a friend and fellow-partisan both with =Burke and
=Wilberforce. =Burke said of him, "He is the most brilliant and successful
debater the world ever saw." In his later years, Mr =Fox was as remarkable
for carelessness in dress and personal appearance, as he had been for the
opposite in his youth. He possessed many pleasing traits of character, but
his morals were not commendable; he was a gambler and a spendthrift. Yet
he exercised a powerful influence on the politics of his times. This
extract is from a speech delivered during a truce in the long war between
=England and =France.



"But we must pause," says the honorable gentleman. What! must the bowels
of =GreatBritain be torn out, her best blood spilt, her treasures wasted,
that you may make an experiment? Put yourselves -- Oh, that you would put
yourselves on the field of battle, and learn to judge of the sort of
horrors you excite! In former wars, a man might at least have some
feeling, some interest, that served to balance in his mind the impressions
which a scene of carnage and death must inflict.

But if a man were present now at the field of slaughter, and were to
inquire for what they were fighting -- "Fighting,", would be the answer;
"they are not fighting; they are pausing!" "Why is that man expiring? Why
is that other writhing with agony? What means this implacable fury," The
answer must be, "You are quite wrong, sir, you deceive yourself, -- they are
not fighting, -- do not disturb them, -- they are merely pausing! This man is
not expiring with agony, -- that man is not dead, -- he is only pausing! Bless
you, sir, they are not angry with one another; they have now no cause of
quarrel; but their country thinks that there should be a pause. All that
you see is nothing like fighting, -- there is no harm, nor cruelty, nor
bloodshed in it; it is nothing more than a political pause. It is merely
to try an experiment -- to see whether =Bonaparte will not behave himself
better than heretofore; and, in the meantime, we have agreed to a pause,
in pure friendship!"

And is this the way that you are to show yourselves the advocates of
order? You take up a system calculated to uncivilize the world, to destroy
order, to trample on religion, to stifle in the heart not merely the
generosity of noble sentiment, but the affections of social nature; and in
the prosecution of this system, you spread terror and devastation all
around you.



&&000 XIX. SPEECH BEFORE THE VIRGINIA CONVENTION. (115)
&&111

=PatrickHenry, =1730-=1799, was born in =Hanover County, =Virginia, He
received instruction in Latin and mathematics from his father, but seemed
to develop a greater fondness for hunting, fishing, and playing the fiddle
than for study. Twice he was set up in business, and twice failed before
he was twenty-four. He was then admitted to the bar after six weeks' study
of the law. He got no business at first in his profession, but lived with
his father-in-law. His wonderful powers of oratory first showed themselves
in a celebrated case which he argued in =Hanover Courthouse, his own father
being the presiding magistrate. He began very awkwardly, but soon rose to
a surprising height of eloquence, won his case against great odds, and was
carried off in triumph by the delighted spectators. His fame was now
established; business flowed in, and he was soon elected to the =Virginia
Legislature. He was a delegate to the Congress of =1774, and in =1775 made
the prophetic speech of which the following selection is a portion.  It
was his own motion that the "colony be immediately put in a state of
defense." During the Revolution he was, for several years, Governor of
=Virginia. In 1788 he earnestly opposed the adoption of the Federal
Constitution. When he died, he left a large family and an ample fortune.
In person, Mr =Henry was tall and rather awkward, with a face stern and
grave. When he spoke on great occasions, his awkwardness forsook him, his
face lighted up, and his eyes flashed with a wonderful fire. In his life,
he was good-humored, honest, and temperate. His patriotism was of the
noblest type; and few men in those stormy times did better service for
their country than he.



It is natural for man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to
shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that
siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men,
engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be
of the number of those, who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear
not the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my
part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the
whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of
experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past;
and, judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the
conduct of the =British ministry for the last ten years to justify those
hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the
house? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately
received? Trust it not: it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not
yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves, how this gracious
reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which
cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a
work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to
be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us
not deceive ourselves. These are the implements of war and subjugation, --
the last arguments to which kings resort.

I ask, gentlemen, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to
force us into submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive
for it? Has =GreatBritain any enemy in this quarter of the world, to call
for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, she has none. They are
meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind
and rivet upon us those chains which the =British ministry have been so
long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument?
We have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to
offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every
light in which it was capable; but it has been all in vain.

Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we
find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you,
deceive ourselves longer. We have done everything that could be done, to
avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have
remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves at the
foot of the throne, and implored its interposition to arrest the
tyrannical bands of the ministry and parliament. Our petitions have been
slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult;
our supplications disregarded; and we have been spurned with contempt from
the foot of the throne.

In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and
reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be
free; if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for
which we have been so long contending; if we mean not basely to abandon
the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we
have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our
contest shall be obtained -- we must fight! I repeat it, we must fight! An
appeal to arms and the God of Hosts, is all that is left us.

They tell us that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an
adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the
next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a =British
guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by
irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual
resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive
phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? We
are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God of
nature hath placed in our power.

Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such
a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our
enemy can send against us. Besides, we shall not fight our battles alone.
There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations; and who
will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle is not to
the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides,
we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too
late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and
slavery! Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains
of =Boston! The war is inevitable; and; let it come! I repeat it, let it
come!

It is in vain to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry peace, peace; but
there is no peace. The war is actually begun. The next gale that sweeps
from the north, will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our
brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that
gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet,
as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty
=God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me
liberty, or give me death.



&&000 XLV. OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH. (186)
&&111

=GardinerSpring, =1785-=1873, was the son of =SamuelSpring, =DD, who was
pastor of a Congregational church in =Newburyport, =Massachusetts, for more
than forty years. The son entered =Yale College, and was valedictorian of
his class in =1805. He studied law for a time; then went to =Bermuda, where
he taught nearly two years. On his return he completed his law studies,
and practiced his profession for more than a year. In =1810, having studied
theology at =Andover, he was ordained as pastor of the "Brick Church" in
=NewYorkCity. Here he remained till his death. He was elected president
of =Dartmouth College, and also of =Hamilton, but declined both positions.
His works, embracing about twenty octavo volumes, have passed through
several editions; some have been translated into foreign languages, and
reprinted in =Europe. As a preacher, Dr =Spring was eloquent and energetic.



The Sabbath lies at the foundation of all true morality. Morality flows
from principle. Let the principles of moral obligation become relaxed, and
the practice of morality will not long survive the overthrow. No man can
preserve his own morals, no parent can preserve the morals of his
children, without the impressions of religious obligation.

If you can induce a community to doubt the genuineness and authenticity of
the Scriptures; to question the reality and obligations of religion; to
hesitate, undeciding, whether there be any such thing as virtue or vice;
whether there be an eternal state of retribution beyond the grave; or
whether there exists any such being as =God, you have broken down the
barriers of moral virtue, and hoisted the flood gates of immorality and
crime. I need not say that when a people have once done this, they can no
longer exist as a tranquil and happy people. Every bond that holds society
together would be ruptured; fraud and treachery would take the place of
confidence between man and man; the tribunals of justice would be scenes
of bribery and injustice; avarice, perjury, ambition, and revenge would
walk through the land, and render it more like the dwelling of savage
beasts than the tranquil abode of civilized and Christianized men.

If there is an institution which opposes itself to this progress of human
degeneracy, and throws a shield before the interests of moral virtue in
our thoughtless and wayward world, it is the Sabbath. In the fearful
struggle between virtue and vice, notwithstanding the powerful auxiliaries
which wickedness finds in the bosoms of men, and in the seductions and
influence of popular example, wherever the Sabbath has been suffered to
live, the trembling interests of moral virtue have always been revered and
sustained. One of the principal occupations of this day is to illustrate
and enforce the great principles of sound morality. Where this sacred
trust is preserved inviolate, you behold a nation convened one day in
seven for the purpose of acquainting themselves with the best moral
principles and precepts; and it can not be otherwise than that the
authority of moral virtue, under such auspices, should be acknowledged and
felt.

We may not, at once, perceive the effects which this weekly observance
produces. Like most moral causes, it operates slowly; but it operates
surely, and gradually weakens the power and breaks the yoke of profligacy
and sin. No villain regards the Sabbath. No vicious family regards the
Sabbath. No immoral community regards the Sabbath. The holy rest of this
ever-memorable day is a barrier which is always broken down before men
become giants in sin. =Blackstone, in his Commentaries on the Laws of
=England, remarks that "a corruption of morals usually follows a
profanation of the Sabbath." It is an observation of Lord Chief Justice
=Hale, that "of all the persons who were convicted of capital crimes, while
he was on the bench, he found a few only who would not confess that they
began their career of wickedness by a neglect of the duties of the Sabbath
and vicious conduct on that day."

The prisons in our own land could probably tell us that they have scarcely
a solitary tenant who had not broken over the restraints of the Sabbath
before he was abandoned to crime. You may enact laws for the suppression
of immorality, but the secret and silent power of the Sabbath constitutes
a stronger shield to the vital interest of the community than any code of
penal statutes that ever was enacted. The Sabbath is the keystone of the
arch which sustains the temple of virtue, which, however defaced, will
survive many a rude shock so long as the foundation remains firm.

The observance of the Sabbath is also most influential in securing
national prosperity. The God of Heaven has said, "Them that honor me I
will honor," You will not often find a notorious Sabbath breaker a
permanently prosperous man; and a Sabbath-breaking community is never a
happy or prosperous community. There is a multitude of unobserved
influences which the Sabbath exerts upon the temporal welfare of men. It
promotes the spirit of good order and harmony; it elevates the poor from
want; it transforms squalid wretchedness; it imparts self-respect and
elevation of character; it promotes softness and civility of manners; it
brings together the rich and the poor upon one common level in the house
of prayer; it purifies and strengthens the social affections, and makes
the family circle the center of allurement and the source of instruction,
comfort, and happiness. Like its own divine religion, "it has the promise
of the life that now is and that which is to come," for men can not put
themselves beyond the reach of hope and heaven so long as they treasure up
this one command, "Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy."




&&000 LX. RIDING ON A SNOWPLOW. (231)
&&111

=BenjaminFranklinTaylor, =1822-=1887, was born at =Lowville, =NewYork, and
graduated at =Madison University, of which his father was president. Here
he remained as resident graduate for about five years. His "Attractions of
Language" was published in 1845. For many years Mr =Taylor was literary
editor of the "=Chicago Journal." He wrote considerably for the magazines,
and was the author of many well-known fugitive pieces, both in prose and
verse. He also published several books, of which "January and June,"
"Pictures in Camp and Field," "The World on Wheels," "Old-time Pictures
and Sheaves of Rhyme," "Between the Gates," and "Songs of Yesterday," are
the best known. In his later years, Mr =Taylor achieved some reputation as
a lecturer. His writings are marked by an exuberant fancy.



Did you ever ride on a snowplow? Not the pet and pony of a thing that is
attached to the front of an engine, sometimes, like a pilot; but a great
two-storied monster of strong timbers, that runs upon wheels of its own,
and that boys run after and stare at as they would after and at an
elephant. You are snow-bound at =Buffalo. The =LakeShoreLine is piled with
drifts like a surf. Two passenger trains have been half-buried for twelve
hours somewhere in snowy =Chautauqua. The storm howls like a congregation
of Arctic bears. But the superintendent at =Buffalo is determined to
release his castaways, and clear the road to =Erie. He permits you to be a
passenger on the great snowplow; and there it is, all ready to drive.
Harnessed behind it, is a tandem team of three engines. It does not occur
to you that you are going to ride on a steam drill, and so you get aboard.


It is a spacious and timbered room, with one large bull's eye window, -- an
overgrown lens. The thing is a sort of Cyclops. There are ropes, and
chains, and a windlass. There is a bell by which the engineer of the first
engine can signal the plowman, and a cord whereby the plowman can talk
back. There are two sweeps, or arms, worked by machinery, on the sides.
You ask their use, and the superintendent replies, "When, in a violent
shock, there is danger of the monster's upsetting, an arm is put out, on
one side or the other, to keep the thing from turning a complete
somersault." You get one idea, and an inkling of another. So you take out
your Accident Policy for three thousand dollars, and examine it. It never
mentions battles, nor duels, nor snowplows. It names "public conveyances."
Is a snowplow a public conveyance? You are inclined to think it is neither
that nor any other kind that you should trust yourself to, but it is too
late for consideration.

You roll out of =Buffalo in the teeth of the wind, and the world is turned
to snow. All goes merrily. The machine strikes little drifts, and they
scurry away in a cloud. The three engines breathe easily; but by and by
the earth seems broken into great billows of dazzling white. The sun comes
out of a cloud, and touches it up till it out-silvers =Potosi. Houses lie
in the trough of the sea everywhere, and it requires little imagination to
think they are pitching and tossing before your eyes. A great breaker
rises right in the way. The monster, with you in it, works its way up and
feels of it. It is packed like a ledge of marble. Three whistles! The
machine backs away and keeps backing, as a gymnast runs astern to get sea
room and momentum for a big jump; as a giant swings aloft a heavy sledge,
that it may come down with a heavy blow.

One whistle! You have come to a halt. Three pairs of whistles one after
the other! and then, putting on all steam, you make for the drift. The
superintendent locks the door, you do not quite understand why, and in a
second the battle begins. The machine rocks and creaks in all its joints.
There comes a tremendous shock. The cabin is as dark as midnight. The
clouds of flying snow put out the day. The labored breathing of the
locomotives behind you, the clouds of smoke and steam that wrap you up as
in a mantle, the noonday eclipse of the sun, the surging of the ship, the
rattling of chains, the creak of timbers as if the craft were aground and
the sea getting out of its bed to whelm you altogether, the doubt as to
what will come, -- all combine to make a scene of strange excitement for a
landlubber.

You have made some impression on the breaker, and again the machine backs
for a fair start, and then another plunge, and shock, and twilight. And
so, from deep cut to deep cut, as if the season had packed all his winter
clothes upon the track, until the stalled trains are reached and passed;
and then, with alternate storm and calm, and halt and shock, till the way
is cleared to =Erie.

It is Sunday afternoon, and =Erie -- "=MadAnthonyWaynes" old
headquarters -- has donned its Sunday clothes, and turned out by hundreds to
see the great plow come in, -- its first voyage over the line. The
locomotives set up a crazy scream, and you draw slowly into the depot. The
door opened at last, you clamber down, and gaze up at the uneasy house in
which you have been living. It looks as if an avalanche had tumbled down
upon it, -- white as an Alpine shoulder. Your first thought is gratitude
that you have made a landing alive. Your second, a resolution that, if
again you ride a hammer, it will not be when three engines have hold of
the handle!




&&000 LXX. SOUTH CAROLINA. (257)
&&111
=RobertYoungHayne, =1791-=1840, was born in =Colleton District, =SouthCarolina,
and studied and practiced law at =Charleston. He was early
elected to the State Legislature, and became Speaker of the House and
Attorney-general of the state. He entered the Senate of the =UnitedStates
at the age of thirty-one. He was Governor of =SouthCarolina during the
"Nullification" troubles in 1832 and 1833. Mr =Hayne was a clear and able
debater, and a stanch advocate of the extreme doctrine of "State Rights."
In the Senate he opposed the Tariff Bill of 1828; and, out of this
struggle, grew his famous debate with =DanielWebster in =1830. The
following selection is an extract from Mr =Hayne's speech on that
memorable occasion.


If there be one state in the Union, Mr President, that may challenge
comparison with any other, for a uniform, zealous, ardent, and
uncalculating devotion to the Union, that state is =SouthCarolina. Sir,
from the very commencement of the Revolution, up to this hour, there is no
sacrifice, however great, she has not cheerfully made; no service she has
ever hesitated to perform.

She has adhered to you in your prosperity; but in your adversity she has
clung to you with more than filial affection. No matter what was the
condition of her domestic affairs; though deprived of her resources,
divided by parties, or surrounded by difficulties, the call of the country
has been to her as the voice of =God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound;
every man became at once reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of
=Carolina were all seen, crowding to the temple, bringing their gifts to
the altar of their common country.

What, sir, was the conduct of the =South, during the Revolution? Sir, I
honor =NewEngland for her conduct in that glorious struggle. But great as
is the praise which belongs to her, I think at least equal honor is due to
the =South. Never were there exhibited, in the history of the world, higher
examples of noble daring, dreadful suffering, and heroic endurance, than
by the whigs of =Carolina, during the Revolution. The whole state, from the
mountains to the sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force of the enemy.
The fruits of industry perished on the spot where they were produced, or
were consumed by the foe.

The plains of =Carolina drank up the most precious blood of her citizens.
Black, smoking ruins marked the places which had been the habitation of
her children. Driven from their homes into the gloomy and almost
impenetrable swamps, even there the spirit of liberty survived, and =SouthCarolina,
sustained by the example of her =Sumters and her =Marions, proved,
by her conduct, that though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of her
people was invincible.





&&000 LXXVI. INDIAN JUGGLERS. (278)
&&111

=WilliamHazlitt, =1778-=1830, was born in =Maidstone, =England. His father was
a Unitarian clergyman, and he was sent to a college of that denomination
to be educated for the ministry; but having a greater taste for art than
theology, he resolved, on leaving school, to devote himself to painting.
He succeeded so well in his efforts as to meet the warmest commendation of
his friends, but did not succeed in satisfying his own fastidious taste.
On this account he threw away his pencil and took up his pen. His works,
though numerous, are, with the exception of a life of Napoleon, chiefly
criticisms on literature and art.

=Hazlitt is thought to have treated his contemporaries with an unjust
severity; but his genial appreciation of the =English classics, and the
thorough and loving manner in which he discusses their merits, make his
essays the delight of every lover of those perpetual wellsprings of
intellectual pleasure. His "Table Talk," "Characters of Shakespeare's
Plays," "Lectures on the English Poets," and "Lectures on the Literature
of the Elizabethan Age," are the works that exhibit his style and general
merits in their most favorable light.



Coming forward and seating himself on the ground, in his white dress and
tightened turban, the chief of the =Indian jugglers begins with tossing up
two brass balls, which is what any of us could do, and concludes by
keeping up four at the same time, which is what none of us could do to
save our lives, not if we were to take our whole lives to do it in.

Is it then a trifling power we see at work, or is it not something next to
miraculous? It is the utmost stretch of human ingenuity, which nothing but
the bending the faculties of body and mind to it from the tenderest
infancy with incessant, ever-anxious application up to manhood, can
accomplish or make even a slight approach to. Man, thou art a wonderful
animal, and thy ways past finding out! Thou canst do strange things, but
thou turnest them to small account!

To conceive of this extraordinary dexterity, distracts the imagination and
makes admiration breathless. Yet it costs nothing to the performer, any
more than if it were a mere mechanical deception with which he had nothing
to do, but to watch and laugh at the astonishment of the spectators. A
single error of a hair's breadth, of the smallest conceivable portion of
time, would be fatal; the precision of the movements must be like a
mathematical truth; their rapidity is like lightning.

To catch four balls in succession, in less than a second of time, and
deliver them back so as to return with seeming consciousness to the hand
again; to make them revolve around him at certain intervals, like the
planets in their spheres; to make them chase each other like sparkles of
fire, or shoot up like flowers or meteors; to throw them behind his back,
and twine them round his neck like ribbons, or like serpents; to do what
appears an impossibility, and to do it with all the ease, the grace, the
carelessness imaginable; to laugh at, to play with the glittering
mockeries, to follow them with his eye as if he could fascinate them with
its lambent fire, or as if he had only to see that they kept time with the
music on the stage--there is something in all this which he who does not
admire may be quite sure he never really admired anything in the whole
course of his life. It is skill surmounting difficulty, and beauty
triumphing over skill. It seems as if the difficulty, once mastered,
naturally resolved itself into ease and grace, and as if, to be overcome
at all, it must be overcome without an effort. The smallest awkwardness or
want of pliancy or self-possession would stop the whole process. It is the
work of witchcraft, and yet sport for children.

Some of the other feats are quite as curious and wonderful -- such as the
balancing the artificial tree, and shooting a bird from each branch
through a quill -- though none of them have the elegance or facility of the
keeping up of the brass balls. You are in pain for the result, and glad
when the experiment is over; they are not accompanied with the same
unmixed, unchecked delight as the former; and I would not give much to be
merely astonished without being pleased at the same time. As to the
swallowing of the sword, the police ought to interfere to prevent it.

When I saw the =Indian juggler do the same things before, his feet were
bare, and he had large rings on his toes, which he kept turning round all
the time of the performance, as if they moved of themselves.

The hearing a speech in Parliament drawled or stammered out by the
honorable member or the noble lord, the ringing the changes on their
commonplaces, which anyone could repeat after them as well as they, stirs
me not a jot, -- shakes not my good opinion of myself. I ask what there is
that I can do as well as this. Nothing. What have I been doing all my
life? Have I been idle, or have I nothing to show for all my labor and
pains? Or have I passed my time in pouring words like water into empty
sieves, rolling a stone up a hill and then down again, trying to prove an
argument in the teeth of facts, and looking for causes in the dark, and
not finding them? Is there no one thing in which I can challenge
competition, that I can bring as an instance of exact perfection, in which
others can not find a flaw?

The utmost I can pretend to is to write a description of what this fellow
can do. I can write a book: so can many others who have not even learned
to spell. What abortions are these essays! What errors, what ill-pieced
transitions, what crooked reasons, what lame conclusions! How little is
made out, and that little how ill! Yet they are the best I can do.

I endeavor to recollect all I have ever heard or thought upon a subject,
and to express it as neatly as I can. Instead of writing on four subjects
at a time, it is as much as I can manage, to keep the thread of one
discourse clear and unentangled. I have also time on my hands to correct
my opinions and polish my periods; but the one I can not, and the other I
will not, do. I am fond of arguing; yet, with a good deal of pains and
practice, it is often much as I can do to beat my man, though he may be a
very indifferent hand. A common fencer would disarm his adversary in the
twinkling of an eye, unless he were a professor like himself. A stroke of
wit will sometimes produce this effect, but there is no such power or
superiority in sense or reasoning. There is no complete mastery of
execution to be shown there; and you hardly know the professor from the
impudent pretender or the mere clown.



&&000 XC. STARVED ROCK. (325)
&&111

=FrancisParkman, =1823-=1893, the son of a clergyman of the same name, was
born in =Boston, and graduated at =Harvard University in 1844. He spent more
than twenty years in a careful study of the early =French explorations and
settlements in =America; and he published the fruits of his labor in twelve
large volumes. Although troubled with an affection of the eyes, which
sometimes wholly prevented reading or writing, his work was most carefully
and successfully done. His narratives are written in a clear and animated
style, and his volumes are a rich contribution to =American history.


The cliff called "Starved Rock," now pointed out to travelers as the chief
natural curiosity of the region, rises, steep on three sides as a castle
wall, to the height of a hundred and twenty-five feet above the river. In
front, it overhangs the water that washes its base; its western brow looks
down on the tops of the forest trees below; and on the east lies a wide
gorge, or ravine, choked with the mingled foliage of oaks, walnuts, and
elms; while in its rocky depths a little brook creeps down to mingle with
the river.

From the rugged trunk of the stunted cedar that leans forward from the
brink, you may drop a plummet into the river below, where the catfish and
the turtles may plainly be seen gliding over the wrinkled sands of the
clear and shallow current. The cliff is accessible only from the south,
where a man may climb up, not without difficulty, by a steep and narrow
passage. The top is about an acre in extent.

Here, in the month of December, 1682, =LaSalle and =Tonty began to entrench
themselves. They cut away the forest that crowned the rock, built
storehouses and dwellings of its remains, dragged timber up the rugged
pathway, and encircled the summit with a palisade. Thus the winter was
passed, and meanwhile the work of negotiation went prosperously on. The
minds of the Indians had been already prepared. In =LaSalle they saw their
champion against the =Iroquois, the standing terror of all this region.
They gathered around his stronghold like the timorous peasantry of the
Middle Ages around the rock-built castle of their feudal lord.

From the wooden ramparts of =StLouis, -- for so he named his fort, -- high
and inaccessible as an eagle's nest, a strange scene lay before his eye.
The broad, flat valley of the =Illinois was spread beneath him like a map,
bounded in the distance by its low wall of wooded hills. The river wound
at his feet in devious channels among islands bordered with lofty trees;
then, far on the left, flowed calmly westward through the vast meadows,
till its glimmering blue ribbon was lost in hazy distance.

There had been a time, and that not remote, when these fair meadows were a
waste of death and desolation, scathed with fire, and strewn with the
ghastly relics of an Iroquois victory. Now, all was changed. =LaSalle
looked down from his rock on a concourse of wild human life. Lodges of
bark and rushes, or cabins of logs, were clustered on the open plain, or
along the edges of the bordering forests. Squaws labored, warriors lounged
in the sun, naked children whooped and gamboled on the grass.

Beyond the river, a mile and a half on the left, the banks were studded
once more with the lodges of the =Illinois, who, to the number of six
thousand, had returned, since their defeat, to this their favorite
dwelling place. Scattered along the valley, among the adjacent hills, or
over the neighboring prairie, were the cantonments of a half score of
other tribes, and fragments of tribes, gathered under the protecting aegis
of the =French.



&&000 CX. A VIEW OF THE COLOSSEUM. (389)
&&111

=OrvilleDewey, =1794-=1882, a well known Unitarian clergyman and author, was
born in =Sheffield, =Massachusetts, graduated with distinction at =Williams
College in =1814, and afterward studied theology at =Andover. For a while he
was assistant to Dr =WEChanning in =Boston, and later, was a pastor in
=NewBedford, =NewYorkCity, and =Boston. He made two or three voyages to
=Europe, and published accounts of his travels.

"Discourses on Human Life," "Discourses on the Nature of Religion,"
"Discourses on Commerce and Business," are among his published works. His
writings are both philosophical and practical; and, as a preacher, he was
esteemed original, earnest, and impressive.


On the eighth of =November, from the high land, about fourteen miles
distant, I first saw =Rome; and although there is something very
unfavorable to impression in the expectation that you are to be greatly
impressed, or that you ought to be, or that such is the fashion; yet =Rome
is too mighty a name to be withstood by such or any other influences. Let
you come upon that hill in what mood you may, the scene will lay hold upon
you as with the hand of a giant. I scarcely know how to describe the
impression, but it seemed to me as if something strong and stately, like
the slow and majestic march of a mighty whirlwind, swept around those
eternal towers; the storms of time, that had prostrated the proudest
monuments of the world, seemed to have left their vibrations in the still
and solemn air; ages of history passed before me; the mighty procession of
nations, kings, consuls, emperors, empires, and generations had passed
over that sublime theater. The fire, the storm, the earthquake, had gone
by; but there was yet left the still, small voice like that at which the
prophet "wrapped his face in his mantle."

I went to see the Colosseum by moonlight. It is the monarch, the majesty
of all ruins; there is nothing like it. All the associations of the place,
too, give it the most impressive character. When you enter within this
stupendous circle of ruinous walls and arches, and grand terraces of
masonry, rising one above another, you stand upon the arena of the old
gladiatorial combats and Christian martyrdom; and as you lift your eyes to
the vast amphitheater, you meet, in imagination, the eyes of a hundred
thousand Romans, assembled to witness these bloody spectacles. What a
multitude and mighty array of human beings; and how little do we know in
modern times of great assemblies! One, two, and three, and, at its last
enlargement by =Constantine, more than three hundred thousand persons could
be seated in the Circus Maximus!

But to return to the Colosseum; we went up under the conduct of a guide
upon the walls and terraces, or embankments, which supported the ranges of
seats. The seats have long since disappeared; and grass overgrows the
spots where the pride, and power, and wealth, and beauty of =Rome sat down
to its barbarous entertainments. What thronging life was here then! What
voices, what greetings, what hurrying footsteps upon the staircases of the
eighty arches of entrance! And now, as we picked our way carefully through
the decayed passages, or cautiously ascended some moldering flight of
steps, or stood by the lonely walls -- ourselves silent, and, for a wonder,
the guide silent, too -- there was no sound here but of the bat, and none
came from without but the roll of a distant carriage, or the convent bell
from the summit of the neighboring =Esquiline.

It is scarcely possible to describe the effect of moonlight upon this
ruin. Through a hundred lonely arches and blackened passageways it
streamed in, pure, bright, soft, lambent, and yet distinct and clear, as
if it came there at once to reveal, and cheer, and pity the mighty
desolation. But if the Colosseum is a mournful and desolate spectacle as
seen from within--without, and especially on the side which is in best
preservation, it is glorious. We passed around it; and, as we looked
upward, the moon shining through its arches, from the opposite side, it
appeared as if it were the coronet of the heavens, so vast was it -- or like
a glorious crown upon the brow of night.

I feel that I do not and can not describe this mighty ruin. I can only say
that I came away paralyzed, and as passive as a child. A soldier stretched
out his hand for "un dona," as we passed the guard; and when my companion
said I did wrong to give, I told him that I should have given my cloak, if
the man had asked it. Would you break any spell that worldly feeling or
selfish sorrow may have spread over your mind, go and see the Colosseum by
moonlight.


&&000 CXXXVII. A DEFINITE AIM IN READING. (457)
&&111

=NoahPorter, =1811-=1892, was born at =Farmington, =Conn, and graduated at
=Yale in =1831. He remained in =NewHaven as a school-teacher, a tutor in
college, and a student in the theological department until =1836, when he
entered the ministry. In =1846 he was recalled to the college as =Clark
Professor of Moral Philosophy and Metaphysics; and in =1858 he also assumed
the duties of the professorship of Systematic Theology, for a period of
seven years. Upon the retirement of President =Woolsey in =1871, he was
elected to fill the office, which he held until =1886, being the eleventh
president of the college.

President =Porter's greatest literary work is entitled, "The Human
Intellect: With an Introduction upon Psychology and the Human Soul." It is
remarkable for the clear thought and sound judgment it displays, as well
as for its broad scholarship; and it has been pronounced "the most
complete and exhaustive exhibition of the cognitive faculties of the human
soul to be found in our language." His other important works are: "The
Sciences of Nature versus the Science of Man," which is a review of the
doctrines of =HerbertSpencer; "American Colleges and the American Public;"
and the book from which the following selection is taken, namely, "Books
and Reading." Besides these he wrote numerous essays, contributions to
periodicals, etc. During his professorship he was called upon to act as
chief editor in the important work of revising "=Webster's Dictionary." The
edition of =1864 was the result of his careful oversight, and the
subsequent revisions were also under his superintendence.


In reading, we do well to propose to ourselves definite ends and purposes.
The more distinctly we are aware of our own wants and desires in reading,
the more definite and permanent will be our acquisitions. Hence it is a
good rule to ask ourselves frequently, "Why am I reading this book, essay,
or poem? or why am I reading it at the present time rather than any
other?" It may often be a satisfying answer, that it is convenient; that
the book happens to be at hand: or that we read to pass away the time.
Such reasons are often very good, but they ought not always to satisfy us.
Yet the very habit of proposing these questions, however they may be
answered, will involve the calling of ourselves to account for our
reading, and the consideration of it in the light of wisdom and duty.

The distinct consciousness of some object at present before us, imparts a
manifoldly greater interest to the contents of any volume. It imparts to
the reader an appropriate power, a force of affinity, by which he
insensibly and unconsciously attracts to himself all that has a near or
even a remote relation to the end for which he reads. Anyone is conscious
of this who reads a story with the purpose of repeating it to an absent
friend; or an essay or a report with the design of using its facts or
arguments in a debate; or a poem with the design of reviving its imagery,
and reciting its finest passages. Indeed, one never learns to read
effectively until he learns to read in such a spirit--not always, indeed,
for a definite end, yet always with a mind attent to appropriate and
retain and turn to the uses of culture, if not to a more direct
application.

The private history of every self-educated man, from =Franklin onwards,
attests that they all were uniformly not only earnest but select in their
reading, and that they selected their books with distinct reference to the
purposes for which they used them. Indeed, the reason why self-trained
men so often surpass men who are trained by others in the effectiveness
and success of their reading, is that they know for what they read and
study, and have definite aims and wishes in all their dealings with books.
The omnivorous and indiscriminate reader, who is at the same time a
listless and passive reader, however ardent is his curiosity, can never be
a reader of the most effective sort.

Another good rule is suggested by the foregoing. Always have some solid
reading in hand; =ie, some work or author which we carry forward from
one day to another, or one hour of leisure to the next, with persistence,
till we have finished whatever we have undertaken. There are many great
and successful readers who do not observe this rule, but it is a good rule
notwithstanding.

The writer once called upon one of the most extensive and persevering of
modern travelers, at an early hour of the day, to attend him upon a walk
to a distant village. It was after breakfast, and though he had but few
minutes at command, he was sitting with book in hand -- a book of solid
history he was perusing day after day. He remarked: "This has been my
habit for years in all my wanderings. It is the one habit which gives
solidity to my intellectual activities and imparts tone to my life. It is
only in this way that I can overcome and counteract the tendency to the
dissipation of my powers and the distraction of my attention, as strange
persons and strange scenes present themselves from day to day."

To the rule already given -- read with a definite aim -- we could add the
rule -- make your aims to be definite by continuously holding them rigidly
to a single book at all times, except when relaxation requires you to
cease to work, and to live for amusement and play. Always have at least
one iron in the fire, and kindle the fire at least once every day.

It is implied in the preceding that we should read upon definite subjects,
and with a certain method and proportion in the choice of our books. If we
have a single object to accomplish in our reading for the present, that
object will of necessity direct the choice of what we read, and we shall
arrange our reading with reference to this single end. This will be a
nucleus around which our reading will for the moment naturally gather and
arrange itself.

If several subjects seem to us equally important and interesting, we
should dispose of them in order, and give to each for the time our chief
and perhaps our exclusive attention. That this is wise is so obvious as
not to require illustration. "One thing at a time," is an accepted
condition for all efficient activity, whether it is employed upon things
or thoughts, upon men or books. If five or ten separate topics have equal
claim upon our interest and attention, we shall do to each the amplest
justice, if we make each in its turn the central subject of our reading.
There is little danger of weariness or monotony from the workings of such
a rule.

Most single topics admit or require a considerable variety of books, each
different from the other, and each supplementing the other. Hence it is
one of the best of practices in prosecuting a course of reading, to read
every author who can cast any light upon the subject which we have in
hand. For example, if we are reading the history of the Great Rebellion in
=England, we should read, if we can, not a single author only, as
=Clarendon, but a half dozen or a half score, each of whom writes from his
own point of view, supplies what another omits, or corrects what he under-
or overstates.

But, besides the formal histories of the period, there are the various
novels, the scenes and characters of which are placed in those times, such
as =Scott's =Woodstock; there are also diaries, such as those by =Evelyn,
=Pepys, and =Burton; and there are memoirs, such as those of Col
=Hutchinson; while the last two have been imitated in scores of fictions.
There are poems, such as those of =AndrewMarvell, =Milton, and =Dryden.
There are also shoals of political tracts and pamphlets, of handbills and
caricatures.

We name these various descriptions of works and classes of reading, not
because we suppose all of them are accessible to those readers who live at
a distance from large public libraries, or because we would advise
everyone who may have access to such libraries, to read all these books
and classes of books as a matter of course, but because we would
illustrate how great is the variety of books and reading matter that are
grouped around a single topic, and are embraced within a single period.

Every person must judge for himself how long a time he can bestow upon any
single subject, or how many and various are the books in respect to it
which it is wise to read; but of this everyone may be assured, that it is
far easier, far more agreeable, and far more economical of time and
energy, to concentrate the attention upon a single subject at a time than
to extend it to half a score, and that six books read in succession or
together upon a single topic, are far more interesting and profitable than
twice as many which treat of topics remotely related. A lady well known to
the writer, of the least possible scholarly pretensions or literary
notoriety, spent fifteen months of leisure, snatched by fragments from
onerous family cares and brilliant social engagements, in reading the
history of Greece as written by a great variety of authors and as
illustrated by many accessories of literature and art.

Nor should it be argued that such rules as these, or the habits which they
enjoin, are suitable for scholars only, or for people who have much
leisure for reading. It should rather be urged that those who can read the
fewest books and who have at command the scantiest time, should aim to
read with the greatest concentration and method; should occupy all of
their divided energy with single centers of interest, and husband the few
hours which they can command, in reading whatever converges to a definite,
because to a single, impression.