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and the other poor. The rich man had exceeding many
5 flocks aiid herds : But the poor man had nothing save
one little ewe lamb, which he had bought, and nourished
up; and it grew up together with him, and with his
children ; it did eat of his own meat, and drank of his
own cup, and lay in his bosom, and was unto him as a
10 daughter.

*' And there came a traveller unto the rich man, and

he spared to take of his own flock and of his own herd,

, to dress for the way-faring man that was come unto him ;

but took the poor man's lamb, and dressed it for the man

15 that was come unto him.''

" And David's anger was greatly kindled against the
man ; and he said to Nathan,

*' As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this

thing shall surely die : And he shall restore the lamb

20 four-fold, because he did this thing, and because he had

no pity."

And Nathan said unto David, '' Thou art the man."

50. Harmony among brethren.

Two brothers, named Timon and Demetrius, having
quarrelled with each other, Socrates, their common
friend, was solicitious to restore amity between them.
Meeting, therefore, with Demetrius, he thus accosted
5 him ; *' Is not frendship the sweetest solace in adver-
sity, and the greatest enhancement of the blessings of
prosperity?" "Certainly it is," replied Demetrius;
** because our sorrows are diminished, and our joys
increased, by sympathetic participation." "Amongst
10 whom, then, must we look for a friend ? said Socrates :
** Would you search among strangers ? They cannot
be interested about you. Amongst your rivals ? They
have an interest in opposition to yours. Amongst those
who are much older, or younger than yourself! Their

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t^ EXERCISES. [Ex 50.

20 feelings and pursuits will be widely different from yours.
Are there not, then, some circumstances favorable,
and others essential, to the formation of friendship V
** Undoubtedly there are," answered Demetrius. ** May
we not enumerate," continued Socrates, ** amongst the

25 circumstances favorable to friendship, long acquaint-
ance, common connexions, similitude of age, and union
of interest?" " I acknowledge," said Demetrius, " the
powerful influence of these circumstances: but they
may subsist and yet others be wanting, that are essen<>

30 tial to mutual amity." ** And what," said Socrates,
*' are those essentials which are wanting in Timon ?"
" He has forfeited my esteem and attachment," answer-
ed Demetrius. ** And has he also forfeited the esteem
and attachment of the rest of mankind ?" continued

35 Socrates. " Is he devoid of benevolence, generosity,
gratitude, and other social affections?" ** Far be it from
me," cried Demetrius, " to lay so heavy a charge upon
him. His conduct to others, is, I believe, irreproacha-
ble ; and it wounds me the more, that he should single

40 me out as the object of his unkindness." ** Suppose
you have a very valuable horse," resumed Socrates,
*' gentle under the treatment of others, but ungoverna-
ble, when you attempt to use him ; would you not en-
deavor, by all means, to conciliate his affections, and

45 to treat him in the way most likely to render him tract-
able ? — Or, if you have a dog, highly prized for his
fidelity, watchfulness, and care of your flocks, who is
fond of your shepherds, and playful with them, and yet
snarls whenever you come in his way ; would yon at-

50 tempt to cure him of his fault, by angry looks or words,
or by any other marks of resentment ? You would sure-
ly pursue an opposite course with him. And is not the
friendship of a brother of far more worth, than the ser-
vices of a horse, or the attachment of a dog? Why,

55 then, do you delay to put in practice tbose means, which
may reconcile you to Timon ?" *^ Acquaint me with
those means," answered Demetrius, ** for I am a stfan-
ger to them." '' Answer me a few questions," said Soc-
rates. <*If you desire that one of your neighbors

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60 should invite you to his feast, when he ofiers a sacrifice,
what course would you take V — " I would first invite
him to mine." "And how would you induce him to
take the charge of your affairs when you are on a jour-
ney ?" — " I should be forward to do the same good

65 office to him, in his absence." " If you be solicitous
to remove a prejudice, which he may have received
against you, how would you then behave towards him V*
— " I should endeavor to convince him, by my looks,
words, and actions, that such a prejudice was ill-founded."

70 ** And if ne appeared inclined to reconciliation, would
you reproach him with the injustice he had done you V*
— '* No," answered Demetrius ; " I would repeat no
grievances." " Go," said Socrates, ** and pursue that
conduct towards your brother, which you would practise

75 to a neighbor. His friendship is of inestimable worth ;
and nothing is more lovely in the sight of Heaven, than
for brethren to dwell together in unity."


51. Harley's Death,

" There are some remembrances (said Harley) which
rise involuntarily on my heart, and make me almost
wish to live. I have been blessed with a few friends,
who redeem my opinion of mankind. I recollect, with
5 the tenderest emotion, the scenes of pleasure I have
passed among them — but we shall meet again, my friend,
never to be separated. There are some feelings which
perhaps are too tender lo be suffered by the world. The
world, in general, is selfish, interested, and unthinking,

10 and throws the imputation of romance, or melancholy,
on every temper more susceptible tban its own. I can-
not but think, in those regions which I contemplate, if
there is any thing of mortality lefl about us, that these
feelings will subsist : — they are called^perhaps they

15 are — weaknesses, here : — but there may be some better
modifications of them in heaven, which may deserve the
name of virtues." He sighed, as he spoke these last
words. He had scarcely finished them, when the door
opened, and his aunt appeared leading in Miss Walton.

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2d8 BXEKCI8ES. [Ex. 51.

20 '' My dear (says he) here is Miss Walton, who has
been so kind as to come and inquire for yon herself."
I could perceive a transient glow upon his face. He
rose from his seat. — *' If to know Miss Walton's good-
ness (said be) be a title to deserve it, I have some

25 claim." She begged him to resume his seat, and plac-
ed herself on the sofa beside him. I took my leave.
His aunt accompanied me to the door. He was left
with Miss Walton alone. She inquired anxiously after
his health. '' I believe (said he) ftoifl the accounts

30 which my physicians unwillingly give me, that they have
no great hopes of my recovery." — She started, as he
spoke ; but recollecting herself immediately, endeav-
ored to flatter him into a belief, that his apprehensions
were groundless. " I know (said he) that it is usual

35 with persons at my time of life, to have these hopes
which your kindness suggests ; but I would not wish to
be deceived. To meet death as becomes a man, is a
privilege bestowed on few : I would endeavor to make
it mine : — nor do I think, that I can ever be better pre^

40 pared for it than now ; — 'tis that chiefly, which deter-
mines the fitness of its approach." '* Thc^ sentiments,"
answered Miss Walton, '* are Just; but your good sense
Mr. Harley, will own that lite has its proper value. —
As the province of virtue, life is ennobled ; as such, it

45 is to be desired. — To virtue has the Supreme Director
of all things assigned rewards enough, even here, to fix
its attachments."

The subject began to overpower her. — Harley lifted
up his eyes from the ground — " There are (said he,
in a low voice) there are attachments, Miss Walton."

50 — His glance met hers — they both betrayed a confu-
sion, and were both instantly withdrawn. — He paused
some moments. — *' I am (fae said) in such a state as
calls for sincerity : let that alone excuse it — it is, per-
haps, the last time we shall ever meet. I feel some-

55 thing particularly solemn in the acknowledgement ; yet
my heart swells to make it, awed as it is by a sense of
my presumption, — by a sense of your perfections." — He
paused again — Let it not offend you, (he resumed,)

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to know their power over one so unworthy. My heart

60 will, I believe, soon cease to beat, even with that feel-
ing which it shall lose the latest.— To love Miss Walton
could not be a crime. — If to declare it is one, the ex-
piation will be made." Her tears were now flowing
without control. — " Let me entreat you, (said she) to

66 have better hopes — let not life be so indifferent to you ;

if my wishes can put any value upon it — I will not pre-

' tend to misunderstand you — I know your worth— I have

long known it — I have esteemed it — what would you

have me say ? — I have loved it, as it deserved !" He

70 seized her hand : — a languid color reddened his cheek
— a smile brightened faintly in his eye. As he gazed
on her, it grew dim, it fixed, it closed — he sighed, and
fell back on his seat — Miss Walton screamed at the
sight — his aunt and the servants rushed into the room

75 - -they found them lying motionless together. — His phy-
sician happened to call at that instant— every art was
tried to recover them — with Miss Walton they succeed-
ed — but Harley was gone forever.


62. To-morrow,

To-morrow, didst thou say t
Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow.
Go to — 5 will not hear of it — To-morrow.
'Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury
6 Against thy plenty — who takes thy ready cash.

And pays thee nought but wishes, hopes and promises,
The currency of idiotsr-injurious bankrupt,
That gulls the easy creditor ! — To-morrow !
It is a period nowhere to be found
10 In all the hoary registers of Time,

Unless, perchance, in the fooPs calendar.
Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society
With those who own it. No, my Horatio,
'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father ;
~ 16 Wrought of such stuff as dreams are, and as baseless
As the fantastic visions of the evening.
But soft, my friend— arrest the present moment :

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960 EXERCISES. [Ex. 52.

For, be assured, they all are arrant tell-tales :
And though their flight be silent, and their path

20 Trackless as the wing'd couriers of the air,
They post to heaven, and there record thy folly.
Because, though stationed on th' important watch.
Thou, like a skeping, faithless sentinel,
Did'st let them pass unnotic'd, unimproved.

25 And^know, for that thou slumb'rest on the guard.
Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar
For every fugitive : and when thou thus
Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal
Of hood-wink'd Justice, who shall tell thy audit f

30 Then stay the present instant, dear Horatio,
Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings.
'Tisof more worth than kingdoms ! far more precious
Than all the crimson treasures of life's fountain.
O ! let it not elude thy grasp ; but, like

35 The good old patriarch upon record.

Hold the fleet angel fast until he bless thee.


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53. The Perfect Orator,

Imagine to yourselves a Demosthenes, addressing the
most illustrious assembly in the world, upon a point
wkereon the fate of the most illustrious of nations de-
pended — How awful such a meeting! how vast the sub-

5 ject ! — Is man possessed of talents adequate to the great
occasion ? — Adequate ! Yes, superior. By the power
of his eloquence, the augustness of the assembly is lost
in the dignity of the orator; and the importance of the
subject, for a while, superseded by the admiration of his

10 talents. With what strength of argument, with what
powers of the fancy, with what emotions of the heart,
does he assault and subjugate the whole man ; and, at
once, captivate his reason, his imagination, and his pas-
sions ! To effect this, must be the utmost effort of

15 the most improved state of human nature. - Not a fac-
ulty that he possesses, is here unemployed ; not a fac-
ulty that he possesses, but is here exerted to its highest
pitch. All his internal powers are at work ; all his ex-
ternal testify their energies. Within, the memory, the

20 fancy, the judgment, the passions, are all busy; with-
out, every' muscle, every nerve is exerted ; not a fea-
ture, not a limb, but speaks. The organs of the body
attuned to the exertions of the rpind through the kin-
dred organs of the hearers, instantaneously vibrate those

25 energies from soul to soul. Notwithstanding the diver-
sity of minds in such a multitude; by the lightning of
eloquence, they are melted into one mass — the whole
assembly actuated in one and the same way, become,
as it were, but one man, and have but one voice — The

So universal cry is — Let us march against Philip, let
us FIGHT FOR Our Liberties — let us conquer or die !


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302 EXERCISES. [Ex. 54, 55*

54. Character of True Eloquence,
When public bodies are to be addressed on momen-
tous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and
-strong passions excited, nothing is valuable, in speech,
farther than it is connected with high intellectual and
5 moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness
are the qualities which produce conviction. True elo-
quence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot
be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for
it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may

10 be marshalled in every way, but they cannot compass it.
It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the oc-
casion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp
of declamation, all may aspire after it — they cannot reach
it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of

15 a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of vol-
canic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force.
The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments,
and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust
men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives,

20 their children, and their country, hang on the decision
of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhet-
oric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. E-
ven genius itself then feels rebuked, and subdued, as in
the presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is

25 eloquent : then, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear
conception, out-running the deductions of logic, the
high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit,
speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, inform-
ing every feature, and urging the whole man onward,

30 right onward to his object — this, this is eloquence ; or
rather it is something greater and higher than all elo-
quence — it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action.


65. The Pilgrims,

From the dark portals of the star-chamber, and in
the stern text of the acts of uniformity, the pilgrims re-
ceived a commission more efficient than any that

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ever bore the royal seal. Their banishment to Hol-
5 land was fortunate; the decline of their little company
in the strange land was fortunate ; the difficulties
which they experienced in getting the royal consent
to banish themselves to this wilderness were fortunate ;
ail the tears and heart-breakings of that ever memo-

10 rable parting at Delflhaven, had the happiest influence
on the rising destinies of New England. All this pu-
rified the ranks of the settlers. These rough touches
of fortune brushed off the light, uncertain, selfishspir-
its. They made it a grave, solemn, self-denying ex-

15 pedition, and required of those who engaged in it to be
so too. They cast a broad shadow of thought and seri-
ousness over the cause, and if this sometimes deepened
into melancholy and bitterness, can we find no apology
for such a human weakness ?

20 Their trials of wandering and exile, of the ocean,
the winter, the wilderness, and the savage foe, were
the final assurances of success. It was these that put
far away from our fathers' cause, all patrician softness,
all hereditary claims to preeminence. No effeminate

25 nobility crowded into the dark and austere ranks of
the pilgrims. No Carr nor Villiers would lead on the
ill provided band of despised Puritans. No well-endow-
ed clergy were on the alert, to quit their cathedrals,
and set up a pompous hierarchy in the frozen wilder-

30 ness. No craving governors were anxious to be sent
over to our cheerless El Dorados of ice and of snow.
No, they could not say they had encouraged, patronis-
ed, or helt)ed the pilgrims ; their own cares, their own
labors, their own councils, their own blood contrived

35 all, achieved all, bore all, sealed all. They could not
afler wards fairly pretend to reap where they had not
strewn ; and as our fathers reared this broad and solid
fabric with pains and watchfulness, unaided, barely
tolerated, it did not fall when the favor, which had al-

40 ways been withholden, was changed into wrath ; when
the arm which had never supported, was raised to de*

Methinks I see it now, that one solitary, adventurous
vessel, the Mayflower of a forlorn hope, freighted with

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304 BXBRciflBs. [Ex. 55.

45 the prospects of a future state, and bound across the un-
known sea. I behold it pursuing, with a thousand mis-
givings, the uncertain, the tedious voyage. Suns rise
and set, and weeks and months pass, and winter sur-
prises them on the deep, but brings them not the sight

50 of the wished for shore. I see them now scantily sup-
plied with provisions, crowded almost to suffocation in
their ill-stored prison ; — delayed by calms, pursuing a
circuitous route ; — and now driven in fury before the
raging tempest, on the high and giddy waves. The aw-

55 All voice of the storm howls through the rigging. The
laboring masts seem straining from their base ; — ^the dis- ..
mal sound of the pumps is t^ard ; — the ship leaps, as it
were, madly, from billow to billow : — the ocean breaks,
and settles with ingulfing floods over the floating deck,

60 and beats with deadening, shivering weight, against the
staggered vessel. — I see them escaped fiom tlMse perils,
pursuing their all but desperate undertaking, and land-
ed at last, after a five months' passage, on the ice-clad
rocks of Plymouth, — weak and weary from the voyage,

65 — poorly armed, scantily provisioned, depending on the

charity of their ship«master for a draught of beer on

boardy drinking nothing but water on shore,— without

shelter, — without means,^-8urronnded by hostile tribes.

Shut now the volume of history, and tell me, on any

70 pffineiple of human probability, what shall be the &te of
this handful of adventurers. — Tell me, man of military
scrence, in how many months were they all swept off
by the thirty savage tribes, enumerated within the ear-
ly lifflito of New England ? , Tell me, politician, how

75 long did the shadow of a colony, on which your con-
ventions and treaties had not smiled, languish on the
distant coast ? Student of history, compare for me the
baffled projects, the deserted settlements, the abandon-
ed adventures of other times, and find the parallel of

80 this. Was it the winter's storm, beating upon the house-
less heads of women and children ; was it hard labor
and spare meals ; — was it disease, — was it the toma-
hawk, — was it the deep malady of a blighted hope, a ru-
ined enterprise, and a broken heart, aching in its last

85 moments at the recollection of the loved and left, be*

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yond the sea ; was it some, or all of these united, that
hurried this forsaken company to their melancholy fate ?
— And is it possible, that neither of these eausos, that
not all combined, were able to blast this bud of hope ? —
90 Is it possible, that from a beginning so feeble, so frail,
so worthy, not so much of a^rairatioa as of pity, there
has gone forth a progress so steady, a growth so won-
derful, an expansion so ample, a reality so important, a
promise, yet to be fulfilled, so glorious ? JEoereit.

56. The Progress of Poesy.

Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep ;

Isles, that crown the Egean deep ;

Fields, that cool IlHssus laves.

Or where M seander's amber waves
5 In lingering lab'rinths creep.

How do your tuneful echoes languish.

Mute but to the voice of anguish !

Where each old poetic mountain.

Inspiration breath'd around ;
10 Ev'ry shade and hallow'd fountain

Murmur'd deep a solemn sound :

Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour,

Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains ;

Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant pow'r,
15 And coward vice, that revels in her chains.

When Latium had her lofty spirit lost.

They sought, O Albion ! next thy sea-encircled coast

Par from the sun and summer gale.

In thy green lap was nature's darling laid,
20 What time, where lucid Avon stray'd.

To him the mighty mother did unveil

Her awful face the dauntless child

Stretch'd forth his little arms and smil'd.

This pencil tak^, (she said,) whose colors clear
25 Richly paint the vernal year ;

Thine too these gdden keys, immortal boy !

This can unlock the gates of joy :

Of horror, that, and thrilling fears.

Or ope the sacred soiirce of sympathetic tear.

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306 EXERCISES. [Ex. 57.

30 Nor second he, that rose sublime

Upon the seraph wings of ecstasy,

The secrets of th' abyss to spy.

He pass'd the flaming bounds of space and time ;

The liring throne, the sapphire blaze,
35 Where angels tremble while they gaze,

He saw ; but, blasted with excess of light,

Clos'd his eyes in endless night.

Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car

Wide o'er the fields of glory bear
40 Two coursers of etherial race,

With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long resounding pace.
Hark, his hands the lyre explore !

Bright-eyed fancy, hov'ring o*er.

Scatters from her pictured urn
45 Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

But ah ? 'tis heard no more —

O lyre divine ! what daring spirit

Wakes thee now ? though he inherit

Nor the pride nor ample pinion ,
50 That the Theban eagle bear,

Sailing with supreme dominion

Through the azure deep of air ;

Yet ofl before his infant eyes would run

Such forms as glitter in the muse's ray,
55 With orient hlies, unborrowed of the sun ;

Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way

Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate.

Beneath the good how far — but far above the great.


57. Darkness,

I HAD a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars
Did waiMler darkling in the eternal space,
Raylesa, iind pathless, and the icy earth
5 Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air ;
Morn came, and went — and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation : and all hearts

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Were chill'd iQto a selfish prayer for light :

10 And they did lire by watchiires — and the fhrones,
The palaces of crowned kings — ^the huts,
The habitation of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes

15 To look once more into each other's face ;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanoes and the mountain-torch ;
A fearful hope was all the world contained ;
Forests were set on fire — but hour by hour

20 They fell and faded — and the crackling trunks
Extinguished with a crash — and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
'The flashes fell upon them ; some lay down

25 And hid their eyes and wept ; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd ;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and k>ok'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,

30 The pall of a past world : and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd : the wild birds

And, terrified, did flutter on the ground.
And flap their useless wings ,* the wildest brutes

35 Came tame and tremulous ; and vipers crawl' d
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless — they were slain for food ;

Online LibraryEbenezer PorterAnalysis of the principles of rhetorical delivery as applied in reading and ... → online text (page 21 of 30)