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same spirit of liberty, when it was mistaking its proper objects, and transgressing its appointed limits.

The American revolution was to approach him, and he was to kindle in the general flame: the French revolution 5 was to reach him, and to consume but too many of his countrymen; and his "own ethereal mould, incapable of stain, was to purge off the baser fire victorious." But all this was done he might have been pardoned, though he had failed amid the enthusiasm of those around him, and 10 when liberty was the delusion; but the foundations of the moral world were shaken, and not the understanding of Washington.

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As a ruler of mankind, he may be proposed as a model. Deeply impressed with the original rights of human na15 ture, he never forgot that the end, and meaning, and aim, of all just government, was the happiness of the people; and he never exercised authority till he had first taken care to put himself clearly in the right. His candor, his patience, his love of justice, were unexampled; and this, 20 though naturally he was not patient,―much otherwise,— highly irritable.

He therefore deliberated well, and placed his subject in every point of view, before he decided; and his understanding being correct, he was thus rendered, by the 25 nature of his faculties, his strength of mind, and his principles, the man, of all others, to whom the interests of his fellow-creatures might, with most confidence, be intrusted; -that is, he was the first of the rulers of mankind.

LESSON XV.-IMPRESSIONS FROM HISTORY.-G. C. VERPLANCK.

From a Discourse before the New York Historical Society.
[To be marked for Emphasis, by the reader.]

The study of the history of most other nations, fills the mind with sentiments not unlike those which the American traveller feels, on entering the venerable and lofty cathedral of some proud old city of Europe. Its solemn 5 grandeur, its vastness, its obscurity, strike awe to his heart. From the richly painted windows, filled with sacred emblems, and strange, antique forms, a dim religious light falls around. A thousand recollections of romance and poetry, and legendary story, come thronging in 10 upon him. He is surrounded by the tombs of the mighty dead, rich with the labors of ancient art, and emblazoned with the pomp of heraldry.

What names does he read upon them? Those of princes and nobles who are now remembered only for their vices; and of sovereigns, at whose death no tears were shed, and whose memories lived not an hour in the 5 affections of their people. There, too, he sees other names, long familiar to him for their guilty or ambiguous fame. There rest, the blood-stained soldier of fortune,the orator, who was ever the ready apologist of tyranny, -great scholars, who were the pensioned flatterers of 10 power, and poets, who profaned the high gift of genius, to pamper the vices of a corrupted court.

Our own history, on the contrary, like that poetical temple of fame, reared by the imagination of Chaucer, and decorated by the taste of Pope, is almost exclusively 15 dedicated to the memory of the truly great. Or rather, like the Pantheon of Rome, it stands in calm and severe beauty, amid the ruins of ancient magnificence, and the "toys of modern state." Within, no idle ornament encumbers its bold simplicity. The pure light of heaven 20 enters from above, and sheds an equal and serene radiance around. As the eye wanders about its extent, it beholds the unadorned monuments of brave and good men, who have greatly bled or toiled for their country, or it rests on votive tablets, inscribed with the names of the best bene25 factors of mankind.

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"Patriots are here, in Freedom's battles slain,

Priests, whose long lives were closed without a stain,
Bards worthy Him who breathed the poet's mind,
Founders of arts that dignify mankind,

And lovers of our race, whose labors gave

Their names a memory that defies the grave."

Doubtless, this is a subject upon which we may be justly proud. But there is another consideration, which, if it did not naturally arise of itself, would be pressed upon us 35 by the taunts of European criticism.

What, it is asked, has this nation done to repay the world for the benefits we have received from others?

Is it nothing for the universal good of mankind to have carried into successful operation a system of self-govern40 ment, uniting personal liberty, freedom of opinion, and equality of rights, with national power and dignity; such as had before existed only in the Utopian dreams of philosophers? Is it nothing, in moral science, to have anticipated in sober reality, numerous plans of reform in civil

and criminal jurisprudence, which are, but now, received as plausible theories by the politicians and economists of Europe? Is it nothing to have been able to call forth, on every emergency, either in war or peace, a body of talents 5 always equal to the difficulty? Is it nothing to have, in less than half a century, exceedingly improved the sciences of political economy, of law, and of medicine, with all their auxiliary branches; to have enriched human knowledge by the accumulation of a great mass of useful 10 facts and observations, and to have augmented the power and the comforts of civilized man, by miracles of mechanical invention? Is it nothing to have given the world examples of disinterested patriotism, of political wisdom, of public virtue; of learning, eloquence, and valor, never 15 exerted save for some praiseworthy end? It is sufficient to have briefly suggested these considerations: every mind would anticipate me in filling up the details.

No,-Land of Liberty! thy children have no cause to blush for thee. What! though the arts have reared few 20 monuments among us, and scarce a trace of the Muse's footstep is found in the paths of our forests, or along the banks of our rivers; yet our soil has been consecrated by the blood of heroes, and by great and holy deeds of peace. Its wide extent has become one vast temple, and hallowed 25 asylum, sanctified by the prayers and blessings of the persecuted of every sect, and the wretched of all nations.

Land of Refuge,-Land of Benedictions! Those prayers still arise, and they still are heard: "May peace be within thy walls, and plenteousness within thy palaces!" 30 "May there be no decay, no leading into captivity, and no complaining in thy streets!" May truth flourish out of the earth, and righteousness look down from heaven!"

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LESSON XVI.—THE GENIUS OF DEATH.-Croly.
[Marked for Emphasis, as applied to Poetry.]

What is DEATH? 'Tis to be FREE!

No more to love, or hope, or fear

To join the great equality :

ALL alike are humble there!

The mighty grave

Wraps lord and slave;

Nor pride nor poverty DARES come
Within that refuge-house, the TOMB!

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Sink, like waves upon the shore :
STORMS Shall NEVER ROUSE them MORE!

WHAT's the grandeur of the EARTH
To the grandeur round THY THRONE!
Riches, glory, beauty, birth,

To thy kingdom ALL have gone.
Before thee stand

The wondrous band;

Bards, heroes, sages, side by side,

Who DARKENED NATIONS when they died!

Earth has HOSTS; but thou canst show
Many a MILLION for her ONE;
Through thy gates the mortal flow
Has for countless years roll'd on:
Back from the tomb

No step has come;

There fix'd, till the LAST THUNDER's sound
Shall bid thy prisoners be UNBOUND!

LESSON XVII.-THE DEEP.-J. G. C. BRAINARD

[To be marked for Emphasis, by the reader.] There's beauty in the deep:

The wave is bluer than the sky;

And though the light shine bright on high,
More softly do the sea-gems glow,
That sparkle in the depths below;
The rainbow's tints are only made
When on the waters they are laid;

And sun and moon most sweetly shine
Upon the ocean's level brine.—

There 's beauty in the deep.

There's music in the deep:
It is not in the surf's rough roar,
Nor in the whispering, shelly shore,→→→
They are but earthly sounds, that tell

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How little of the sea-nymph's shell,
That sends its loud, clear note abroad,
Or winds its softness through the flood,
Echoes through groves with coral gay,
And dies, on spongy banks away!—
There's music in the deep.

There's quiet in the deep:
Above, let tides and tempests rave,
And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave;
Above, let care and fear contend,

With sin and sorrow to the end:
Here, far beneath the tainted foam,
That frets above our peaceful home,
We dream in joy, and wake in love,
Nor know the rage that yells above.—
There's quiet in the deep.

LESSON XVIII.-POPE AND DRYDEN.-Johnson.

[This piece is marked in application of the rules of Inflection, stated in PART 1., § viш., page 30.]

Pope professed to have learned his poetry from Dryden, whom, whenever an opportunity was presented, he praised through his whole life with unvaried liberàlity; and, perhaps, his character may receive some illustration, if he be 5 compared with his master.

Integrity of understanding, and nicety of discérnment, were not allotted in a less proportion to Drýden than to Pope. The rectitude of Dryden's mind was sufficiently shown by the dismission of his poetical préjudices, and 10 the rejection of unnatural thoughts and rugged numbers. But Dryden never desired to apply all the judgment that he had. He wrote, and professed to write, merely for the people; and when he pleased óthers, he contented himsèlf. He spent no time in struggles to rouse latent 15 powers; he never attempted to make that better which was already good, nor often to ménd what he must have known to be faulty. He wrote, as he tells us, with very little consideration: when occasion or necessity called upon him, he poured out what the present moment hap20 pened to supply, and, when once it had passed the préss, ejected it from his mind; for, when he had no pecuniary interest he had no further solicitude.

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